IG 

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I  .T.THURSTON 


34  9  B 


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THE  BIG  BROTHER 
OF    SABIN    STREET 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS 


™The  Bishop's  Shadow"  Books 

By  L  T.  THURSTON 
Each  Illustrated,  J2mo,  Cloth 

Billy  Burns  of  Troop  5 

Here  is  a  Boy  Scout's  story  which  has  to  do  with 
the  average  boy  of  the  city.  Like  "  The  Bishop's 
Shadow  "  and  "  The  Scout  Master  of  Troop  5,"  it  is 
fresh,  breezy,  clear-cut  and  catchy — a  fine,  strong, 
earnest,  lucid  book,  written  with  the  idea  of  helping 
boys  to  do  their  parts  in  the  world's  work.  The 
author's  wonderful  insight  into  the  boy  nature  and 
knowledge  of  his  ways  of  work  and  recreation  is 
here  apparent 

The  Scout  Master  of  Troop  5 

"  The  daily  life  of  the  city  boys  from  whom  the 
scouts  are  recruited  is  related,  and  the  succession  of 
experiences  afterward  coming  delightfully  to  them — 
country  hikes,  camp  life,  exploring  expeditions,  and 
the  finding  of  real  hidden  treasure." — N.  Y.  Sun. 

The  Big  Brother  of  Sabin  Street 

Containing  the  story  of  Theodore  Bryan 
(The  BUhop's  Shadow) 

«  This  volume  is  the  sequel  to  the  Story  of  Theo- 
dore Bryan, « The  Bishop's  Shadow,1  which  came 
into  prominence  as  a  classic  among  boys'  books  and 
was  written  to  supply  the  urgent  demand  for  a  story 
continuing  the  account  of  Theodore's  work  among 
the  boys." —  Western  Recorder. 

The  Bishop's  Shadow 

•«  A  captivating  story  of  dear  Phillips  Brooks  and 
a  little  street  gamin  of  Boston.  The  book  sets  forth 
the  almost  matchless  character  of  the  Christlike 
bishop  in  most  loving  and  lovely  lines." 

—  The  interior. 


Then  ho  arose  and  went  out  into  the  night 

see  pp.  (!} 


THE  BIG  BROTHER 
OF  SABIN   STREET 

Continuing  the  Story  of 

TH  EODORE    BRYAN 
"THE  BISHOP'S  SHADOW" 

By 
I.  T.  THURSTON 

Illustrated  by 
FRANK  LLOYD  ROSE 


Niw  Your  CHICAGO  TOBONTO 

Fleming  H.   Revell   Company 

LONDON        AND         EDINBURGH 


Copyright,  1909,  by 
FLEMING  H.  REVELL  COMPANY 


New  York:  158  Fifth  Avenue 
Chicago:  17  N.  Wabash  Ave. 
Toronto:  25  Richmond  St.,  W. 
London:  21  Paternoster  Square 
Edinburgh:  100  Princes  Street 


CONTENTS 

FAGI 
CHAPTER 

I.    HARVARD  vs.  PRINCETON       .       •  7 

II.    IN  THE  DEPTHS  23 

III.  A  LOST  YEAR 42 

IV.  RECALLED 54 

V.    A  YEAR  OF  WAITING    .       .       .  71 

VI.    GREEN  TREE  HOUSE      .  .81 

VII.     "  KNIGHTS  "  IN  THE  ROUGH        .  106 

VIII.    TOMMY  O'BRIEN    .                      •  I23 

IX.    MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS      .       .  J37 

X.    CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET    .  165 

XL     BELLA 182 

XII.    THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE  .       .  202 

XIII.  MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE      .  226 

XIV.  GATHERING  UP  THE  THREADS      .  252 
XV.     BRADY  AND  OTHERS      .       .       .  262 

XVI.    BRYAN'S  KNIGHTS         .       .       .281 

XVII.    THE  CLIMAX 293 

XVIII.    THE  RESULTS  OF  THE  CRUSADE   .  32° 

EPILOGUE                      .       .       .  331 


2133205 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACING 
PAGE 

Then  he  arose  and  went  out  into  the  night  .       .  Title 

Bryan  took  the  pen  and  .   .   .  for  a  long  minute 

he  held  it  suspended  over  the  paper  ...       51 

Long  and  hungrily  his  eyes  dwelt  on  the  strong, 
earnest  face  .  .  .  the  idol  of  his  neglected 
boyhood,  the  ideal  of  his  later  days  ...  63 

"  I'll  get  you  free,  never  you  doubt  that "      .       .      69 

Then  the  black  head  and  the  sandy  one  together 

bent  over  it  with  eager  interest        .       .       .     in 

"  Oh,  it's  Tony— it's  Tony  Trudo  "     .       .       .       .130 

She  helped  Mrs.  Knowles  with  her  dainty  cooking 

and  housekeeping 190 


I 

HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON 

THERE  he  is!    That's  Bryan— the  big 
fellow  at  the  end." 

Before  the  words  were  fairly  out  of 
his  mouth  the  speaker  was  on  his  feet  shouting 
the  Harvard  yell  with  all  the  power  of  his  strong 
young  lungs.  Six  others  in  the  same  row 
shouted  in  chorus,  their  crimson  badges  flaring 
vividly  conspicuous  among  the  black  and  yellow 
that  almost  everybody  else  was  wearing — but 
their  cry,  lusty  though  it  was,  was  drowned  in 
the  overwhelming  outburst  of  Princeton  yells. 
The  great  hall  rang  with  the  tumultuous  medley 
of  shouts,  cheers,  yells,  whistles,  and  snatches  of 
song,  while  the  president  of  Princeton  and  the 
other  members  of  the  faculty,  the  judges,  and  a 
few  honoured  guests  were  finding  their  places  on 
the  platform. 

On  the  four  young  men  standing  together  near 
the  centre  of  the  platform — two  wearing  Prince- 
ton colours  and  two  the  crimson  of  Harvard — all 
eyes  were  centred,  for  these  were  the  orators  of 
the  occasion.  Which  would  win  the  honours  in 
the  debate — Princeton  or  Harvard?  That  was 
the  question  that  a  thousand  eager  young  fellows 
7 


8  THEODORE  BRYAN 

were  asking  themselves  or  each  other  with  an 
anxiety  out  of  all  proportion  to  the  importance  of 
the  issue. 

The  president  in  his  silk  gown  lifted  his 
hand,  and  slowly  the  excited  clamour  lessened, 
then  died  into  reluctant  silence — a  tense  silence 
a-thrill  with  eager  life.  The  very  atmosphere 
of  the  great  hall  was  vibrant  and  tingling  with 
life. 

Down  there  in  the  seat  directly  back  of  the 
seven  who  wore  the  Harvard  red,  a  girl  caught 
her  breath  sharply,  the  colour  coming  and  go- 
ing in  her  cheeks  as  she  looked  about  her.  The 
hall,  aglow  with  light  and  colour,  was  filled  to  its 
utmost  capacity.  On  the  floor,  the  black  coats  of 
the  men  served  but  to  emphasise  the  rich,  many- 
coloured  costumes  of  the  ladies.  And  girls — 
girls  were  there  in  almost  as  great  numbers  as  the 
students,  or  so  one  would  have  thought  until  his 
glance  reached  the  galleries,  which  were  simply 
packed  with  boys  and  young  men.  At  a  first 
glance  the  galleries  seemed  to  be  profusely  dec- 
orated with  the  college  colours,  but  the  decora- 
tions presently  resolved  into  sweaters  of  black 
and  yellow,  worn  by  two  out  of  every  three  of 
the  students. 

The  girl  down  in  front  leaned  forward  and 
spoke  to  a  young  fellow — the  one  who  had 
pointed  out  Bryan  to  her. 

"  Oh,  Ted,"  she  whispered,  "  isn't  it  splendid ! 
I'm  so  glad  you  coaxed  Uncle  Edward  to  bring 
me." 


HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON  9 

Ted  turned  a  glowing  face  over  his  shoulder. 
"  You'll  be  gladder  yet  before  ten  o'clock,"  he 
exulted,  "  but  those  Tigers  in  the  gallery  won't  be 
so  lively  then.  Our  fellows  are  going  to  walk 
all  over  'em — you  hear  me!" 

"  Hush,  we  must  be  quiet  now,"  the  girl  an- 
swered, as  the  dignified  president  began  to 
speak. 

She  had  attended  many  college  "  occasions  "  be- 
fore— this  girl.  Her  cousin  Ted  was  always 
proud  to  take  her  whenever  she  would  go  with 
him — but  never  had  she  been  at  anything  like 
this,  where  the  atmosphere  seemed  so  electric 
with  the  college  spirit.  When  the  first  of  the 
Princeton  men  stepped  forward  to  open  the  de- 
bate, the  galleries  rose  in  a  body  and  cheered  him 
till  the  rafters  shook.  The  silence  that  followed 
seemed  almost  unnatural  after  that  whirlwind  of 
sound.  One  could  hear  now  and  then  a  quick 
breath,  an  eager  sigh,  as  the  strong  young  voice 
went  steadily  on,  interrupted  now  and  then  by  a 
sudden  burst  of  applause  when  some  particularly 
telling  point  was  made — applause  promptly 
hushed,  that  no  sentence  might  be  lost. 

It  was  a  good  speech,  clear,  strong,  and 
thoughtful,  and  again  the  galleries  cheered  to 
the  echo  as  the  speaker  took  his  seat,  but  Ted 
Marston  turned  to  his  cousin,  his  eyes  shining 
happily. 

"  Oh,  Ted,  if  they  should  win — Princeton " 

the  girl  breathed. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  Marjorie,  they  won't,"  he 


10  THEODORE  BRYAN 

assured  her.  "Evans  is  better  than  that  chap, 
and  we've  got  Bryan — don't  you  forget  that." 

The  girl's  eyes  turned  to  the  platform. 

"Is  he  so  fine — Bryan?"  she  questioned. 
"  One  wouldn't  think  so,  to  look  at  him.  He 
looks  just — big  and  quiet." 

"  Big  and  quiet !  "  Ted  scoffed.  "  He's  big  all 
right — look  at  his  shoulders — and  he's  quiet  usu- 
ally, but  when  he  gets  waked  up — Have  I  told 
you  what  they  call  him  at  Harvard  ?  " 

"No.    What?" 

"  The  White  Flame." 

"Why?"  the  girl  questioned. 

"  Because  he  won't  stand  for  anything  that  isn't 
square  and  white — anything,  no  matter  who  or 
what.  Ah,  now  for  Evans."  He  leaned  forward. 
"  Yell  for  all  you're  worth,  boys !  "  he  cried. 

And  they  did  yell  for  all  they  were  worth, 
those  seven  who  wore  the  crimson.  The  noise 
they  made  was  out  of  all  proportion  to  their  num- 
bers, and  after  a  moment  the  galleries  joined  in, 
and  Evans  bowed  his  acknowledgments  before 
he  began  to  speak. 

But  as  he  went  on  Marjorie  Armstrong  lis- 
tened with  growing  fear.  To  her  he  seemed  far 
less  convincing  than  the  first  speaker ;  and  though 
the  audience  gave  him  close  attention,  she  noticed 
that  there  was  very  little  applause,  and  what  there 
was  came  mostly  from  Ted  and  his  comrades. 
She  turned  doubtful,  questioning  eyes  to  Ted  as 
Evans  took  his  seat. 

"  Don't  you  worry,  Marjie,"  Ted  assured  her 


HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON         11 

again,  as  he  unconsciously  rubbed  his  smarting 
hands.  "  Evans  finished  up  that  chap  all  right, 
all  right — and  they  all  know  it  too." 

"  But  he  got  so  little  applause,"  Marjorie  ob- 
jected. 

Ted's  smile  was  quite  undisturbed.  "  Of 
course.  Suppose  they're  going  to  crow  when 
their  own  man  is  getting  the  worst  of  it  ?  " 

The  girl's  face  brightened,  then  kindled  with 
quick  response  as  "  Old  Nassau  "  rang  out  in 
full-throated  chorus  from  the  galleries. 

"  Huh !  "  grunted  Ted  disdainfully.  "  I'd  like 
to  give  'em  '  Fair  Harvard.'  " 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  you  could !  "  breathed  the  girl. 
"  But,  Ted,  it's  splendid  to  hear  them  sing  like 
that,  isn't  it  ?  You  can  just  feel  how  they  love  it." 

"Love  what?"  mocked  Ted,  his  chin  lifted 
disdainfully. 

"  Why,  the  college  and — and  everything.  Oh, 
how  much  it  must  mean  to  boys — four  years  in 
such  a  college !  " 

"  You  bet  it  does !    I  wouldn't  give  up  my  four 

years  at  old  Harvard "    He  choked  suddenly, 

and  the  girl  saw  that  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 
She  turned  to  the  gentleman  on  her  right. 

"  Uncle  Ned,"  she  asked  eagerly,  "  did  you 
think  that  Evans  made  a  better  speech  than  the 
Princeton  man  ?  " 

Mr.  Marston  smiled  down  into  the  glowing 
face  and  shining  eyes. 

"  Of  course  he  did — no  question  about  it,  is 
there,  dad  ?  "  Ted  broke  in  eagerly. 


12  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  The  Princeton  man  was  the  better  speaker," 
Mr.  Marston  said,  "  but  your  man,  Ted,  had  the 
best  of  the  argument,  in  my  judgment." 

"  Of  course  he  was  on  the  right  side,  but  he 
could  have  walked  all  over  that  Tiger,  anyhow," 
Ted  flung  back,  and  his  father  laughed  as  he  an- 
swered : 

"  For  Harvard,  right  or  wrong — that's  your 
attitude,  Ted." 

"  Oh,  pshaw !  But  he  was  all  right,"  Ted  in- 
sisted; then  he  flung  an  impatient  glance  at  the 
galleries  where  hundreds  of  vigorous  young 
voices  joined  now  in  the  "  Orange  and  Black." 

"  Oh,  oh!  If  they  don't  stop  I  shall  have  to 
sing  that  chorus  myself!"  cried  Marjorie,  her 
foot  keeping  time  to  the  ringing  notes. 

"  Don't  you  dare! "  Ted  fairly  glowered  at  her. 
"  Let  me  catch  you  singing  Tiger  music  when 
Harvard  boys  are  around !  " 

She  turned  to  him  a  sparkling,  defiant  face, 
and  then  lifted  her  voice  with  the  rest,  for  every- 
body was  singing  now,  while  Ted  frowned  and 
turned  his  back  on  her. 

The  second  Princeton  man  was  fine,  even  Ted 
grudgingly  admitted  that — so  fine  that  a  shade  of 
anxiety  crept  into  Ted's  confident  eyes,  but  he 
would  not  admit  in  words  that  he  was  anxious. 

"Just  you  wait  till  you  hear  Bryan,"  he  as- 
sured his  father  and  Marjorie,  over  and  over. 
"  He  isn't  flowery  like  this  chap,  but  he's  got  the 
level  head  all  right,  and  his  voice — oh,  well,  you'll 
see." 


HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON         13 

"  Anybody'd  think  he  was  a  new  Wendell 
Phillips,  or  Henry  Ward  Beecher,  to  hear  you," 
teased  the  girl. 

"  Your  friend  will  have  to  do  more  than  well 
to  surpass  that.  I  call  that  a  remarkably  fine 
address  for  a  student,"  Mr.  Marston  commented, 
while  the  hall  was  again  ringing  with  applause. 

The  anxiety  deepened  in  Ted's  eyes,  but  he 
still  stoutly  maintained  his  faith  in  Bryan. 

When  at  last  Bryan  rose  and  stepped  for- 
ward, the  place  was  very  still.  He  was  the  only 
one  of  the  four  who  had  not  been  greeted  with 
applause — even  Ted  forgot  to  cheer,  so  intensely 
anxious  was  he  lest  Bryan  should  not  "  make 
good  "  on  this  great  occasion. 

There  was  nothing  particularly  noticeable  in 
the  young  man.  He  was  rather  plain  than  other- 
wise, but  tall  and  well-developed;  he  gave  the 
impression  of  perfect  physical  condition,  and 
before  he  had  been  speaking  five  minutes,  no  one 
in  that  audience  could  have  questioned  his  men- 
tal power.  His  language  was  simple — not  "  flow- 
ery," as  Ted  had  said — but  his  arguments  were 
clear,  strong,  convincing,  and  his  voice  had  some 
subtle  quality  that  made  it  a  delight  to  listen  to 
him. 

As  he  went  on,  Ted's  face  began  to  glow  again, 
and  even  Marjorie  lost  her  anxiety  as  to  the  re- 
sult. It  seemed  to  her  that  everybody  must  see 
that  Bryan's  arguments  were  unanswerable. 

The  audience  listened  in  a  breathless  silence, 
broken  now  and  then  by  a  sudden  burst  of  ap- 


14  THEODORE  BRYAN 

plause,  swiftly  hushed,  for  Bryan  went  on  quite 
regardless  of  such  tokens  of  approval.  But  when 
his  speech  was  ended,  the  sentiment  of  his  audi- 
ence was  expressed  in  no  uncertain  fashion. 
Again  and  again  the  applause  broke  forth,  and  if 
it  was  not  quite  as  hearty  in  the  galleries  as  on 
the  floor,  who  could  blame  the  boys  in  black  and 
yellow,  who  saw  the  honours  likely  to  be  carried 
away  from  their  beloved  Princeton? 

But  they  rallied  while  the  judges  were  out — 
those  lusty  young  fellows  in  the  galleries— and 
again  the  strains  of  "  Nassau,"  "  The  Triangle," 
and  "  The  Orange  and  Black  "  rang  out  with  'a 
swing  that  there  was  no  resisting.  It  was  a 
long  wait— perhaps  after  all  their  fears  were 
unfounded — the  judges  might  decide  for  Prince- 
ton. With  a  growing  hope,  the  hearts  of  the 
Princeton  %  boys  softened  towards  those  seven 
down  in  front  flaunting  so  confidently  their  odi- 
ous crimson  ribbons,  and  suddenly  a  voice  from 
the  gallery  shouted: 

"  Guests,  sing,"  and  instantly  scores  of  voices 
echoed  the  cry,  "  Guests,  sing— guests,  sing  '  Fair 
Harvard ' ! " 

The  seven  on  the  floor  of  the  hall  flashed  at 
each  other  swift  glances  of  amazement;  then 
their  faces  brightened,  and  with  heads  together 
they  exchanged  a  hurried  whisper,  and  then, 
standing  in  their  places— those  few  in  the  midst 
of  "  the  hostile  hosts  "—they  sang  "  Fair  Har- 
vard." 

Marjorie    found  her  lips  quivering  and  had 


HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON         15 

much  ado  to  keep  back  the  tears  as  the  tender, 
pathetic  little  air  rang  out  in  the  tense  silence 
of  that  crowded  house,  her  cousin's  clear  voice 
leading.  Just  a  single  stanza  they  sang,  and  then, 
as  the  judges  filed  back  all  else  was  forgotten  as 
every  ear  was  trained  to  catch  the  word  that 
meant  so  much  to  many.  Impatiently  they  lis- 
tened to  the  compliments  that  were  bestowed  on 
both  sides  till  at  last  came  the  announcement — 
for  Harvard. 

Before  the  word  was  fairly  spoken,  Ted  Mar- 
ston  was  standing  on  his  seat,  and  the  next  in- 
stant he  had  whipped  out  a  banner  of  crimson 
silk  and  was  waving  it  exultantly  above  his 
head. 

There  was  a  second  of  absolute  stillness,  a 
stillness  that  could  be  felt,  as  friend  and  foe 
alike  stared  with  caught  breath  at  that  red  ban- 
ner waving  in  Alexander  Hall! 

The  Harvard  boys  broke  the  spell  with  a  burst 
of  exultant  cheers — cheers  for  Bryan,  for  Evans, 
for  old  Harvard.  It  seemed  incredible  that  seven 
boys  could  make  so  much  noise — but  almost  at 
once  the  audience  joined  in,  and  finally  even  the 
gallery  hosts  began  to  swell  the  chorus.  Then 
there  was  a  rush  and  a  scramble,  and  the  Harvard 
seven  were  on  the  platform  hugging  their  two 
heroes,  slapping  them  on  the  back,  shaking  their 
hands — all  talking  at  once,  and  nobody  listening. 

But  down  on  the  floor,  Marjorie  watching,  lis- 
tening, lifted  a  radiant  face,  as  she  cried  out, 
"  Oh,  Uncle  Ned,  what  a  thing  it  is — this  college 


16  THEODORE  BRYAN 

spirit !  I  wonder  if  it  is  like  this  in  girls'  colleges. 
If  I  thought  it  was,  I'd  go  myself — I  would 
truly." 

Mr.  Marston  did  not  answer;  he  was  watch- 
ing those  wildly  excited  boys  swarming  around 
Bryan.  "  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  wait  here 
till  those  foolish  fellows  come  to  their  senses. 
Any  one  would  think  Harvard  never  won  a  de- 
bate before,"  he  grumbled,  but  his  eyes  were 
tender. 

"  Uncle  Ned,  you're  a  fraud,"  the  girl  de- 
clared. "  You  are  just  as  delighted  as  Ted  him- 
self, I  know  you  are.  Oh,  he  is  bringing  Bryan 
here!" 

"  And  full  time  he  did,  too,"  said  Ted's  father. 

Marjorie  felt  a  shade  of  disappointment  when 
she  met  her  cousin's  hero.  He  was  so  plain  and 
so  quiet,  and  he  did  not  seem  to  care  at  all  for  her 
congratulations.  The  girl  drew  herself  up  with 
a  little  disapproving  frown,  and  then  turned  to 
some  of  the  other  boys,  who  were  only  too  proud 
to  claim  her  attention.  But  their  time  was  limited 
for  they  were  to  take  the  night  train  back  to  Bos- 
ton, and  soon  they  were  off,  escorted  by  a  delega- 
tion of  Princetonians,  anxious  to  show  due  cour- 
tesy to  their  guests  in  spite  of  their  disappoint- 
ment at  the  result  of  the  debate. 

"  Did  you  like  Mr.  Bryan,  uncle  ?  "  Marjorie 
inquired,  as  they  walked  over  to  their  hotel. 
The  answer  surprised  her  greatly. 

"  Like  him  ?  I  didn't  think  whether  or  not  I 
liked  him,  but  if  money  can  get  him,  I  mean  to 


HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON         17 

have  that  young  man  in  my  office.  If  I  am  any 
judge  of  men,  he  has  the  qualities  that  will  carry 
him  far,  and  I'm  always  on  the  lookout  for  that 
kind  of  timber." 

The  girl  lifted  her  pretty  chin  disdainfully. 
"  He  may  make  a  good  business  man,  but  he'll 
never  be  a  gentleman,"  she  declared  with  em- 
phasis. 

"  A  gentleman ! "  Mr.  Marston  echoed. 
"  Child,  some  time  you  will  learn  that  a  man 
is  worth  more  than  a  gentleman — your  notion 
of  a  gentleman." 

When  Ted  came  home  for  the  Easter  holidays, 
his  father  and  Marjorie  learned  much  more  about 
Bryan.  Ted  was  always  ready  to  talk  about  him, 
and  his  father  seemed  equally  ready  to  listen ; 
while  Marjorie  asserted,  with  a  little  mocking 
smile,  that  she  had  to  listen  for  Ted  couldn't 
talk  about  any  one  or  anything  else. 

"  And  I'm  not  the  only  one,"  Ted  flung  back 
at  her.  "  You  just  ought  to  hear  the  dean  go 
on  about  him !  I've  heard  him  say  more  than 
once  that  Bryan's  influence  has  been  a  power  for 
good  at  Harvard.  The  undergrads  all  swear  by 
him." 

"But  why?  What  makes  them  all  think  so 
much  of  him  ?  "  Marjorie  questioned  with  a  sort 
of  reluctant  curiosity. 

"  Why  ?  Because  he's  as  straight  as  a  string, 
and  does  his  best  to  keep  every  other  fellow 
straight.  He  loves  old  Harvard — well,  of  course 
we  all  do  that — but  it's  different  with  Bryan. 


18  THEODORE  BRYAN 

He  has  a  higher  standard  than  most  of  us.  You 
see  his  whole  life  has  been  different.  He  began 
with  a  high  ideal  when  he  was  just  a  little  kid, 
and  he  tried  to  live  up  to  that  because — well,  may- 
be, because  he  didn't  have  anything  but  that  in 
his  life." 

"  Go  back  to  the  beginning  and  tell  us  the 
whole  story,  Ted.  I  mean  to  get  hold  of  that 
young  man,  and  I  want  to  know  all  about  him," 
Mr.  Marston  said. 

Ted  pulled  himself  bolt  upright  and  stared 
across  at  his  father. 

"  Get  hold  of  Bryan — you  ?  What  for,  busi- 
ness ?  "  he  demanded. 

His  father  nodded.  "  Of  course.  The  busi- 
ness wants  young  men  with  brains  and  back- 
bone, and  they're  none  too  easy  to  find." 

"  Bryan  has  the  brains  and  backbone,  all  right, 
and  more  too,  but  you  won't  get  him,  father — not 
ever."  Ted's  tone  was  final. 

Mr.  Marston  smiled,  quite  undisturbed.  "  You 
think  not?" 

"  I  know  not,"  Ted  declared.  "  You  couldn't 
tempt  him  if  you  should  offer  him  ten  thousand 
a  year." 

"  You  seem  very  positive.  Has  he  settled 
plans  for  his  future  ?  " 

"You  bet  he  has."  Ted  looked  at  his  father 
with  a  curious  expression  in  his  merry  blue 
eyes.  "  He  is  going  to  be  a  preacher,"  he  added 
slowly. 

Mr.     Marston    threw    back    his    head    and 


HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON         19 

laughed.  Ted  flushed,  the  light  of  battle  flaming 
suddenly  in  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you  can  laugh,  dad,  but  all  the 'same  you 
won't  get  him.  You  don't  know  Teddy  Bryan — 
and  I  do." 

"  Teddy?  So  his  name  is  the  same  as  yours?  " 
questioned  Marjorie,  who  had  been  listening  with 
an  interest  that  surprised  herself. 

"  No,  his  name  is  Theodore,  but  we  call  him 
Teddy  sometimes,"  her  cousin  answered ;  then  he 
faced  his  father  again  and  spoke  gravely.  "  Look 
here,  daddy,  I'll  tell  you  about  Bryan — how  he 
came  to  be  the  kind  of  chap  he  is.  The  dean — 
Professor  Wylie — told  me  the  story  one  day  not 
long  ago.  How  he  heard  it  all  I  don't  know,  for 
Bryan's  the  last  fellow  to  talk  about  himself — he's 
always  too  busy  thinking  about  somebody  else. 
The  dean  said  that  Bryan  was  a  regular  little 
street  tough — no  home,  no  people,  no  anything, 
when  somehow  or  other  he  fell  in  with  that  great 
bishop  that  everybody  loved.  I  don't  know  just 
how  Bryan  came  to  know  him,  but  anyhow  he 
did.  It  was  the  first  good  man  he  ever  had 
known  and,  little  guttersnipe  as  he  was,  I  guess 
he  just  about  worshipped  him,  and  when  he  died 
— the  bishop — well,"  Ted's  voice  grew  suddenly 
husky,  "  Bryan  was  all  broken  up  over  it  at  first ; 
and  then  he  set  himself  to  live  as  he  thought  his 
great  man  would  have  wanted  him  to  live.  It 
was  a  pretty  plucky  thing  for  such  a  forlorn  little 
chap  to  undertake  such  a  contract  as  that,  don't 
you  think  ?  "  Ted's  boyish  face  was  very  grave 


20  THEODORE  BRYAN 

and  earnest  now.  He  had  forgotten  Marjorie — 
forgotten  everything  but  the  story  he  was  telling. 
"  You  can  just  imagine  what  a  steady  up-hill 
pull  it  must  have  been  for  years — /  don't  see  how 
he  ever  stuck  it  out,  but  he  did.  He  hadn't  a  cent 
except  what  he  earned  himself,  but  he  managed 
to  pick  up  a  living  and  all  the  while  lend  a  hand 
to  other  fellows  like  himself.  He  made  friends, 
and  somehow  he  got  a  boys'  club  started  and  he 
has  kept  it  going  all  these  years.  He  went  to  an 
evening  school,  and  when  he  made  up  his  mind 
that  he  was  going  to  be  a  minister,  then  he  began 
to  save  up  money  for  college.  How  do  you  sup- 
pose he  ever  did  it — the  poor,  lonesome  little 
chap  ?  Wylie  said  he  had  only  two  hundred  dol- 
lars when  he  entered  Harvard;  but  he  opened  a 
dining-room,  made  a  specialty  of  chops  and  sea 
foods,  and  now  his  place  has  a  splendid  run  of 
custom — college  custom  mostly." 

"  But  how  can  he  carry  on  a  place  like  that  and 
attend  to  his  studies  ?  "  Mr.  Marston  inquired. 

"  Just  by  sheer  digging,"  Ted  responded.  "  Of 
course,  he  has  a  manager  for  his  dining-rooms — 
a  fellow  named  Hunt — and  you  see  Bryan  knows 
how  to  plan  and  manage  and  make  others  do 
things  as  he  wants  them  done." 

Mr.  Marston  nodded.  "That's  the  kind,"  he  said. 

"  But  I  don't  see  how  a  fellow  like  that  can 
have  any  great  influence  over  such  young  men 
as  many  that  go  to  Harvard,"  Marjorie  put  in, 
"  rich  men's  sons,  and  those  belonging  to  good 
families " 


HARVARD  VS.  PRINCETON         21 

Ted  faced  her  indignantly.  "  Well,  I  guess 
even  rich  men's  sons  know  enough  to  appreciate 
such  a  rare  fellow  as  Bryan,"  he  declared.  "  Be- 
sides he's  helped  lots  of  'em  out  of  scrapes,  and 
kept  them  out  of  scraps,  and  fairly  made  them — 
some  of  them — do  the  right  thing.  Why,  there's 
one  fellow — he's  got  money  to  burn — and  he  isn't 
a  bad  chap  at  bottom,  but  he's  weak  as  water. 
Any  scamp  can  lead  him  into  mischief,  and  there 
are  plenty  ready  to  since  he's  so  free  with  his 
money.  Well,  sir,"  Ted  faced  his  father  again, 
"  Bryan  has  stuck  to  that  fellow  like  a  brother, 
hauled  him  out  of  saloons  and  gaming  places, 
saved  him  from  disgrace  times  without  number, 
and  just  forced  him  to  knuckle  down  to  work. 
And  Blake — the  fellow's  name  is  Billy  Blake — 
he  thinks  that  Bryan  is  the  whole  show.  That's 
only  one  case ;  there  are  others,  lots  of  'em.  He 
seems  to  know  by  instinct  when  a  fellow  is  be- 
ginning to  go  wrong — or  to  weaken,  and  chuck 
his  work,  and  he  goes  for  that  fellow,  and  gets 
him  almost  every  time.  He  has  interested  a  lot 
of  the  chaps  that  have  money  in  his  boys'  clubs 
— got  'em  not  only  to  give  money,  but  go  once  or 
twice  a  week  and  get  acquainted  with  the  boys 
and  help  'em  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  How  he  finds 
time  for  it  all  I  don't  know,  but  he  manages  it 
somehow." 

"  And  you  say  he  means  to  enter  the  min- 
istry?" Mr.  Marston  said  thoughtfully. 

Ted  nodded.  "  Yes,  and  start  work  down  in 
the  slums  somewhere.  He's  going  to  begin  with 


22  THEODORE  BRYAN 

some  sort  of  settlement  work,  and  when  he  gets 
enough  to  start — enough  people,  I  mean — he'll 
get  the  money  somehow  for  a  building,  some- 
thing in  the  line  of  an  institutional  church  he  has 
in  mind,  with  all  sorts  of  helps  and  attractions 
for  poor  people.  He'll  get  them — the  church  and 
the  congregation  both.  I've  heard  him  talk  to  his 
boys  at  the  club.  Tell  ye  what — he  gets  right 
hold  of  them,  and  I  don't  wonder.  I  would  have 
done  anything  he  asked  me  to,  after  one  of  those 
talks,"  Ted  finished  with  emphasis. 

"  It  is  partly  the  peculiar  quality  of  his  voice 
that  gives  him  such  unusual  power  as  a  speaker," 
Mr.  Marston  said  slowly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  admit  that,"  Ted  flung  back  in- 
stantly, "  but  that  isn't  all,  father — not  by  a  long 
shot!" 

"  No,  I  didn't  say  it  was.  It  is  that  quality 
of  the  man  behind  the  voice.  He  has  power,  and 
the  world  always  yields  to  power.  Perhaps,"  he 
added  musingly,  "  he  has  chosen  his  life  work 
wisely,  but  I  believe  that  I  could  show  him  how 
he  might  multiply  many  times  his  influence  for 
good  in  the  world." 

The  gravity  of  Ted's  face  broke  suddenly  into 
amusement. 

"  Ah,  daddy,  what  an  old  sticker  you  are ! " 
he  laughed.  "You  think  you'll  succeed  in 
sprinkling  some  golden  salt  on  your  bird's  tail- 
feathers  and  then  you'll  grab  him.  But  you're 
off  this  time.  Bryan  is — different.  You'll  see." 


II 

IN  THE  DEPTHS 

TED  MARSTON  was  a  junior  at  the  time 
of  the  Princeton-Harvard  debate.  All 
through  the  next  year  his  letters  were  full 
of  Bryan,  until  Marjorie  petulantly  declared  that 
she  was  sick  of  hearing  about  Ted's  paragon — 
she  was  sure  that  he  was  a  conceited  prig.  She 
wrote  to  her  cousin  that  if  he  didn't  put  some- 
thing besides  Bryan  into  his  letters  she  would  not 
go  to  the  Commencement  at  all,  and  then 
wouldn't  he  be  disappointed?  And  Ted  wrote 
back  that  he  would  never  mention  Bryan's 
name  to  her  again  if  she'd  only  come,  for  he 
had  told  the  fellows  that  his  pretty  cousin  was  to 
be  there  and  they  were  all  crazy  to  see  her,  and 
see  if  she  really  was  as  pretty — as  she  used  to  be. 

Marjorie  frowned  and  laughed  over  that  last 
sentence,  but  she  went  to  the  Commencement  as 
she  had  meant  all  the  time  to  do. 

It  was  a  great  occasion  for  Ted,  but  his  joy 
was  sadly  marred  before  the  evening  was  over. 
Bryan  had  been  chosen  valedictorian,  not  be- 
cause of  his  scholarship,  for  he  was  not  one  of 
the  honour-men,  but  his  classmates  would  have 
him  and  no  other,  and  though  he  said  little,  he 
23 


24  THEODORE  BRYAN 

was  greatly  pleased  to  be  chosen.  He  spent  much 
time  and  thought  over  his  paper,  and  as,  on  the 
eventful  night,  he  sat  awaiting  his  turn,  his  heart 
was  full  to  overflowing  of  gratitude  and  gladness. 
His  thoughts  went  back  through  the  bygone  years, 
years  of  struggle  and  hard-won  victory.  How 
impossible  it  seemed  that  he — poor  little  "  Tode  " 
Bryan  of  the  streets — had  really  won  through 
those  four  years — hard,  glad,  glorious  years — to 
this  great  hour.  And  now,  three  more  years  of 
hard  work,  and  study,  and  then,  his  heart  leaped 
exultantly,  then  all  the  years  to  come  spent  in 
following  the  footsteps  of  One  and  His  splendid 
servant.  To  Theodore  Bryan  nothing  else  that 
earth  could  offer  seemed  worthy  of  mention,  com- 
pared with  such  a  life  of  joyful  service. 

He  roused  himself  with  a  start,  realising  that 
the  president  was  reading  his  name  as  the  vale- 
dictorian, and  as  he  rose  and  stepped  forward, 
the  very  walls  seemed  to  rock  with  the  welcome 
that  greeted  him.  What  dear  fellows  they  were, 
all  of  them!  He  looked  across  the  hall  at  the 
great  body  of  undergraduates,  then  at  the  presi- 
dent and  professors,  and  finally  his  eyes  passed 
along  the  line  of  his  black-gowned  classmates — 
his,  little  Tode  Bryan's !  Then  he  became  aware 
that  the  tumultuous  applause  had  ceased,  and 
there  was  silence — they  were  waiting  for  him  to 
speak.  Lifting  his  head  he  began : 

"Mr.  President  and "  Then  he  stopped 

short. 

The  eyes  of  his  classmates,  perplexed,  won- 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  *5 

dering,  startled,  were  focussed  upon  him.  What 
could  be  the  matter  ?  Surely  he  had  not  forgot- 
ten what  he  had  to  say.  Yet  he  stood  there  star- 
ing at  the  president,  his  face  white,  drawn,  ago- 
nised. Again  and  again  he  opened  his  lips,  but 
no  sound  followed. 

"Are  you  ill,  Mr.  Bryan?"  The  words 
seemed  to  float  in  the  air  about  him  as  the  presi- 
dent spoke  in  an  anxious  whisper.  Instinctively 
trying  to  reply  in  the  same  key,  Bryan  heard  him- 
self saying,  "  No,  sir,  it's  my  voice.  It's — it's 
gone.  I  can  only  speak  like  this." 

"  Sit  down  a  moment  and  take  a  glass  of  water. 
It  is  probably  only  nervousness,"  the  president 
said  kindly.  A  word  to  the  leader,  and  the  or- 
chestra filled  the  interval  with  a  medley  of  popu- 
lar airs  while  Bryan  slowly  drank  the  water  that 
some  one  had  handed  him.  But  plainly  it  was 
something  more  than  nervousness.  Try  as  he 
would,  he  could  not  speak  above  a  hoarse  whis- 
per, and  this  being  evident,  the  valedictory  had  to 
be  omitted,  since  Bryan  had  no  written  paper  that 
another  might  have  read  for  him. 

It  was  a  very  great  disappointment  to  him, 
for  the  honour  of  so  representing  his  class  had 
meant  very  much  to  him ;  but  by  the  time  the 
exercises  were  over,  he  had  recovered  from  the 
shock  of  surprise  and  dismay,  and  could  turn 
the  matter  off  lightly,  when  friends  and  class- 
mates crowded  about  him  with  questions  and 
regrets. 

"Whafs  the   odds?"  he   said   in  his  husky 


26  THEODORE  BRYAN 

whisper.  "  I've  had  these  four  splendid  years 
with  you  at  old  Harvard,  and  I've  got  my  sheep- 
skin all  right;  and  I  know  you  fellows  will  for- 
give me  for  making  such  a  mess  of  it  here  to- 
night, since  I  really  couldn't  help  it." 

Professors  and  classmates  said  everything  they 
could  think  of  to  lighten  his  mortification  and 
regret,  and  Ted  Marston  tried  to  carry  him 
down  to  where  Mr.  Marston  and  Mar j  one  were 
waiting,  but  Bryan  begged  off. 

"  Another  time,  when  I  won't  sound  quite  so 
much  like  an  ancient  crow,"  he  laughed.  "  You're 
going  to  stay  on  here  for  a  few  days,  aren't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  Ted  assured  him,  "and  I  shall  be 
around  after  you  to-morrow.  My  father  wants 
particularly  to  see  you — particularly,  Bryan." 

"To  see  me — for  what?"  Bryan  asked;  but 
Ted  answered  with  a  laugh : 

"  I  shan't  tell  you  for  what.  Dad  prefers  to 
attend  to  his  own  business — only  he's  going  to 
see  you  if  he  has  to  stay  in  Boston  a  week." 

Then  others  came  up;  there  were  hand-shak- 
ings and  lingering  farewells,  and  promises  of 
letters  and  meetings  in  the  near  future ;  and  some 
were  gay  and  jolly,  but  more  were  sad  because 
the  four  happy  years  were  ended.  Many  clear 
young  eyes  were  dim  and  many  manly  faces  wet 
with  tears  before  all  the  good-byes  were  spoken, 
and  the  black-gowned  graduates  slowly  and  re- 
luctantly went  their  separate  ways. 

Bryan  was  among  the  last  to  leave;  as  he 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  27 

turned  towards  the  door,  the  dean  came  hurrying 
after  him. 

"  Bryan,"  he  said,  his  hand  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder,  "  it  was  hard  for  you  to-night — 
very  hard.  We  are  all  so  sorry.  But  after  all,  a 
valedictory  is  a  matter  of  small  importance.  You 
will  have  better  and  bigger  things  to  do  in  the 
world,  and  I  know  you  will  do  your  part  well. 
You  are  not  made  of  the  stuff  that  fails."  Then 
with  a  keen  glance,  he  asked,  "  Have  you  ever 
had  any  trouble  with  your  voice  before  ?  " 

Bryan  shook  his  head.  He  hated  to  speak  in 
that  strange  husky  tone. 

"  Well,  there's "  The  Dean  named  a  noted 

specialist  in  throat  diseases.  "You'd  better  see 
him  to-morrow." 

Bryan  looked  startled.  "  Why,  it's  only  a  cold 
— or  maybe  I've  strained  my  voice  somehow,"  he 
said  quickly. 

"  Very  likely — I  hope  that  is  all ;  but  you'd  bet- 
ter see  the  doctor  without  delay.  Mention  my 
name — he's  a  good  friend  of  mine — and  come 
around  after  you've  seen  him  and  tell  me  what 
he  says,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  wish.  Thank  you  very 
much,  professor,"  Bryan  answered,  and  then  he 
was  outside  alone  in  the  summer  night. 

It  was  only  because  of  his  promise  to  the  dean 
that  Bryan  iwent  to  the  specialist  the  next  day ;  and, 
though  he  did  not  guess  that,  it  was  only  through 
his  use  of  the  dean's  name  that  he  was  admitted 
to  the  doctor's  office  without  previous  appointment. 


28  THEODORE  BRYAN 

The  doctor  examined  him  carefully  and  asked 
many  questions,  among  others,  what  were  his 
plans  now  that  his  college  course  was  over. 
When  Bryan  told  him,  the  doctor  sat  silent  so 
long  that  the  young  man  felt  a  vague  thrill  of 
uneasiness. 

"Of  course,  I  know  that  this  isn't  anything 
serious,  doctor,"  he  said  lightly.  "  I  shouldn't 
have  come  to  you  if  the  dean  had  not  made  me 
promise  to  do  so." 

"  It  is  serious,"  returned  the  doctor  gravely. 

Involuntarily  Bryan  threw  back  his  shoulders 
as  one  who  braces  himself  for  a  shock. 

"You  mean ?"  He  left  the  sentence  un- 
finished. 

"I  mean,"  returned  the  doctor  slowly,  "that 
you  must  change  your  plans.  You  will  never 
be  able  to  preach." 

Bryan  sat  perfectly  motionless,  his  eyes  — 
startled,  incredulous,  rebellious, — staring  at  the 
doctor's  face. 

"  It  is  hard  " — like  one  in  a  dream  he  heard 
the  doctor's  voice  go  on — "  but  you  are  a  man, 
and  a  strong  one.  Men  are  needed  in  the  world 
for  other  things  as  well  as  for  preaching.  You 
can  live  the  gospel,  if  you  cannot  preach  it,  you 
know." 

"  Do  you  mean — that  I  must  always  speak — 
like  this?"  The  husky  whisper  cut  across  the 
doctor's  words,  unheeding. 

"  Oh,  no.  You  will  recover  from  this  strain, 
and  probably  have  a  good  voice  for  ordinary  con- 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  29 

versation ;  but  if  you  attempt  any  amount  of  pub- 
lic speaking,  it  will  be  likely  to  end  as  it  did  last 
night." 

For  a  moment  Bryan  turned  his  face  aside; 
then  he  drew  a  long  breath  and  stood  up. 
"  Thank  you,  doctor,"  he  said.  "  I  suppose," 
wistfully,  "there  is  no  chance  that  you  are  mis- 
taken? You  know  it  all  in  this  line,  they 
say." 

"  There  is  no  possibility  of  a  mistake.  I  wish 
there  was,  for  your  sake,"  the  doctor  answered, 
and  Bryan  paid  the  fee,  and  walked  out  without 
another  word. 

All  that  day  the  dean  watched  and  waited  for 
Bryan  to  come  and  tell  him  the  result  of  his  inter- 
view with  the  doctor,  but  he  did  not  appear. 
Three  times  Ted  Marston  went  to  Bryan's  room, 
but  each  time  he  found  the  door  locked,  and 
there  was  no  response  to  his  imperative  demand 
for  admittance,  so  he  went  grumbling  back  to  his 
father  and  cousin. 

The  second  day  the  dean  himself  went  to 
Bryan's  room,  and  he,  too,  found  the  door  fas- 
tened, nor  did  it  open  to  his  knock  any  more 
than  it  had  to  Ted  Marston's.  But  the  dean  did 
not  go  away  grumbling.  He  sent  a  message  to 
the  landlady,  and  when  she  appeared,  he  made 
some  searching  inquiries. 

"  Indeed,  sir,"  the  woman  declared,  "  I'm  wor- 
ried most  to  death  about  Mr.  Bryan.  He's  in  his 
room — oh,  yes,  he's  there — but  he  won't  let  any- 
body in,  and  he  hasn't  been  out  since  yesterday 


30  THEODORE  BRYAN 

morning.  I'm  sure  he  hasn't  had  a  mouthful  to 
eat  for  twenty-four  hours.  And  he's  always  been 
so  steady,  never — well,  you  know,  sir,  how  some 
of  the  young  gentlemen  are.  I'm  sure  he  must  be 
sick  or  in  some  great  trouble.  I  do  wish  you 
could  get  in  and  see  him." 

"  I  will,"  the  dean  answered,  and  returning  to 
the  door,  he  knocked  again  and  listened.  There 
was  no  sound.  He  put  his  lips  to  the  keyhole. 

"  Bryan,"  he  called,  "  I  must  see  you.  I  know 
you  are  here." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  longer;  then 
the  dean's  quick  ears  heard  the  words  whispered 
through  the  door,  "  I'm  sorry,  professor,  but  I 
can't  see  any  one  to-day — not  even  you." 

"  You  can,  and  you  must  see  me,  Bryan.  If 
you  do  not  open  the  door,  I  shall  get  a  chair  and 
sit  here  until  you  let  me  in  if  I  have  to  stay  until 
to-morrow  morning." 

"  Please,  sir,  don't  stay.  Another  time — maybe 
to-morrow,  I  can  see  you." 

"  No,  to-morrow  will  not  do.  I  must  see  you 
now."  The  dean's  determined  voice  showed  no 
signs  of  yielding. 

Another  silence  followed ;  then  suddenly  the 
door  was  flung  open,  and  the  dean  entered  the 
room.  He  stared  in  wonder  and  dismay  at  the 
face  of  the  young  man,  so  changed  it  was  since 
he  had  last  looked  into  it. 

"  Why,  Bryan,  you  are  ill — don't  stand,"  he 
cried. 

Bryan  flung  himself  into  a  chair,  leaving  his 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  31 

visitor  to  find  one  for  himself.  The  dean  cast 
a  swift  glance  about  the  disordered  room,  then 
his  eyes  came  back  to  Bryan's  face.  It  was  the 
face  of  one  with  no  hope,  no  object  in  life — one 
who  might  be  swept  into  any  current  of  evil. 

"  Bryan,  what  is  the  trouble  ?  You  know  I  am 
your  friend.  Trust  me,  and  be  sure  that  I  will 
give  you  any  help  in  my  power."  The  dean 
spoke  earnestly. 

"  There  is  no  help." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Bryan?  What  has  hap- 
pened ?  " 

"  Nothing  much,  only — everything  is  gone," 
said  Bryan  slowly.  Suddenly  he  lifted  dull,  hope- 
less eyes  to  the  dean's  face.  "  God  is  gone.  I 
don't  believe  in  God  any  more,"  he  added  slowly 
and  distinctly. 

"  Bryan !  "  Sheer  surprise  held  the  dean  silent 
after  that  one  word.  This  from  Bryan,  whose  un- 
shaken faith  and  trust  had  kept  so  many  careless 
boys  from  straying — led  sa  many  wild  and  reck- 
less ones  to  spend  their  strength  and  energy  in 
helping  others !  Bryan  of  all  men !  At  last  the 
dean  spoke  slowly,  gravely :  "  I  must  know  what 
this  means,  Bryan."  Then  with  a  sudden  glim- 
mer of  understanding,  "  Did  you  see  the  doctor  ?  " 

Bryan  nodded.  If  it  were  possible,  the  gloom 
on  his  face  deepened. 

"  What  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said," — strangely  enough,  Bryan's  voice 
changed  suddenly  and  for  a  moment  he  spoke  as 
clearly  as  ever,  but  so  absorbed  was  he  in  what 


32  THEODORE  BRYAN 

he  was  saying  that  he  did  not  notice  it — "  he  said 
that  I  must  make  other  plans  for  my  life,  for 
I  could  never  be  a  public  speaker — never  preach." 
He  leaned  forward  now,  a  strange  gleam  leaping 
into  his  eyes  till  they  glowed  like  coals  in  his 
white  drawn  face. 

"  Do  you  understand,  professor,  what  that 
meant  to  me  ?  When  I  was  a  little  tough  on  these 
city  streets  with  no  people  and  no  home  and  no 
anything,  I  was  made  to  believe  that  there  was  a 
great  and  good  God — that  He  loved  us,  every  last 
one  of  us,  and  that  the  most  splendid  thing  a  fel- 
low could  do  was  to  spend  his  whole  life  in  serv- 
ing that  God,  and  lending  a  hand  to  those  who 
needed  help.  I  vowed  I  would  do  that.  You've 
never  been  a  stray  boy  of  the  streets,  professor — 
you  can't  imagine  what  it  meant  for  such  a  boy  to 
keep  that  vow.  It  meant  fighting  the  devil  in  my- 
self every  waking  hour.  It  meant  denying  myself 
about  everything  that  other  boys  delighted  in. 
It  meant  working  day  in  and  day  out,  year  in  and 
year  out,  and  never  spending  a  nickel  on  the 
things  I  wanted  as  much  as  the  other  fellows 
wanted  'em,  and  being  called  a  fool  for  my  pains. 
And  when  I  grew  older,  still  believing  in  that 
God  I'd  heard  about,  I  set  myself  to  get  an  edu- 
cation so  that  I  could  be  a  minister  and  tell  other 
people  about  Him — poor  street  waifs  like  my- 
self, and  worse.  Maybe  you  think  you  can  imag- 
ine what  it  cost  me — this  education — but  you 
can't.  The  long  years  I  grubbed  and  slaved  to 
earn  a  living,  and  went  to  night-school  and  tried 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  33 

to  study  when  I  was  so  dead  tired  I'd  fall  asleep 
over  my  books — the  years  it  took  me  to  save  up 
even  the  little  I  had  when  I  came  here  to  college. 
I  could  have  saved  up  more  in  much  less  time,  but 
I  thought  I  must  please  Him  by  helping  other 
fellows  poorer  than  I  was.  Work!  If  I  hadn't 
been  strong  as  a  horse,  I  never  could  have  pulled 
through  and  got  ready  for  college.  You  know 
how  it  has  been  these  four  years  past ;  you  know 
how  I've  worked  to  pay  expenses  and  keep  up 
with  my  classes,  and  still  give  time  to  fellows 
that  I  thought  needed  help !  " 

He  had  poured  out  all  this  with  a  sullen  pas- 
sion like  a  dull,  smouldering  fire  bursting  in- 
to sudden  vivid  flame.  As  he  paused  the  dean 
nodded,  his  kind  eyes  full  of  concern  and  com- 
passion. 

"  Yes,  Bryan,"  he  said,  "  I  have  watched  you 
through  these  four  years,  and  have  felt  that  the 
dear  old  college  was  honoured  in  counting  you 
among  her  students." 

Bryan's  fierce  eyes  did  not  soften.  His  som- 
bre gaze  sent  a  thrill  of  dread  through  the  dean's 
heart.  He  would  have  said  more,  but  Bryan, 
paying  no  heed,  swept  on  with  increasing  bitter- 
ness. 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I'd  give  my  whole 
life  to  the  service  of  that  God — Who  doesn't  exist  ; 
that  I'd  be  a  minister  and  live  among  the  poorest 
in  some  great  city ;  and  I  meant  to  work  my  way 
through  the  seminary  as  I  had  worked  it  through 
college.  Is  it  a  small  thing — I  ask  you,  professor 


34  THEODORE  BRYAN 

— do  you  count  it  a  small  thing  for  a  young  man 
to  give  freely  his  whole  life  to  the  service  of  a 
God  that  he  believes  in,  and  to  his  fellowmen ;  to 
put  aside  his  own  ambitions,  his  own  pleasures — 
all  the  things  that  other  men  want  and  work  for — 
do  you  count  that  a  small  thing  ? " 

"  No,  I  count  it  a  great  thing — a  splendid 
thing,"  the  professor  answered  quickly,  "  and  God 
never  fails  to  accept  and  bless  a  life  so  conse- 
crated to  Him ;  but,  my  boy,  He  may  have  other 
plans  for  you — plans  which  will  make  your  life 
richer  and  happier  and  more  useful  to  others  than 
if  your  own  chosen  plan  had  been  carried  out." 

"  No,  professor,"  Bryan's  words  dropped 
slowly,  one  by  one  now,  "no!  If  the  God  I've 
believed  in  really  existed,  He'd  never  let  a  fel- 
low trust  Him  and  work  for  Him  all  these  years, 
and  then  fling  him  aside  like  an  old  shoe,  just 
when  he  was  offering  all  he  had — all  he  had 
made  of  himself,  to  Him.  No,  the  kind  of  God 
I've  believed  in  couldn't  do  that.  It's  all  a  mis- 
take. There  isn't  any  such  God,  and  I've  found 
it  out.  Now  I'm  going  to  live  as  other  men  do—- 
take all  the  good  I  can  find  in  life,  whenever  and 
wherever  I  can  get  it,  and  let  the  other  fellows 
look  out  for  themselves.  I'm  glad  I've  told  you 
this.  I'm  no  hypocrite,  and  I'd  rather  have  you 
know  just  where  I  stand  and  how  I  feel." 

"  Bryan,"  the  dean  leaned  forward  and  spoke 
with  grave  impressiveness,  "  you  have  not  been 
mistaken  all  these  years.  The  God  you  have 
believed  in  does  exist,  and  He  will  not  let  you 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  35 

cut  yourself  off  from  His  love.  He  may  let  you 
wander  away  from  Him  for  a  time,  but  He  will 
surely  bring  you  back.  I  believe — I  am  sure — 
that  in  the  years  to  come  you  are  to  do  for  Him 
even  more  than  you  have  done  in  the  past." 

Bryan's  answer  to  that  was  a  laugh — a  laugh 
that  was  sadder  than  tears,  but  he  spoke  no  word. 
The  dean  rose  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  I  have  always  liked  you,  Bryan,  from  the  first 
time  I  spoke  to  you,  and  I  want  to  say  to  you 
now  that  you  have  done  for  Harvard  through 
your  influence  over  the  boys  more  even  than  Har- 
vard has  done  for  you.  And,  Bryan,  if  you  have 
lost  your  faith  in  God,  at  least  be  true  to  your- 
self— to  your  manhood.  Do  not  do  anything  that 
will  spoil  the  splendid  record  you  have  made  thus 
far.  With  your  strong  body  and  clear  brain 
you  can  make  a  good  place  for  yourself  in  the 
world,  and  do  not  forget  this — any  downward 
step  that  you  take  will  lead  others  downward. 
You  have  more  influence  than  perhaps  you  real- 
ise. I  am  going  now,  but,  Theodore,  remember 
that  I  am  most  heartily  your  friend,  and  if  at  any 
time  or  in  any  way  I  can  be  of  service  to  you,  it 
will  give  me  very  great  pleasure.  Good-bye." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Bryan,  with 
a  frown,  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  and  began 
walking  up  and  down  the  room,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  his  eyes  full  of  gloom.  Once  his 
glance  rested  on  a  portrait  that  hung  over  his 
desk,  and,  with  a  shudder,  he  caught  up  a  table- 
cover  and  flung  it  over  the  picture  that  he  might 


36  THEODORE  BRYAN 

not  see  the  noble  face  with  its  earnest,  searching 
eyes. 

A  little  later  there  was  again  a  knock  on  the 
door.  When  it  had  been  many  times  repeated, 
Bryan  impatiently  flung  the  door  open  and  stood 
scowling  at  the  unwelcome  visitor. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  "  he  demanded 
roughly. 

The  young  man  who  stood  in  the  hall  stared  at 
him  in  bewildered  amazement. 

"  Why — why — "  he  stammered,  "  I  came 
'round  to  see  how  you  were.  I  was  here  twice 
yesterday,  but  you  were  out.  The  boys  were  aw- 
fully disappointed  when  you  didn't  come  to  the 
club  last  night — it's  the  first  night  you've  missed, 
you  know.  Some  of  them  wanted  to  come  over 
here  to-day,  but  I  told  'em  I'd  come.  Is  it — you 
are  sick,  Theodore  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  sick.  There's  nothing  the  matter 
with  me  except  this  confounded  throat  strain. 
Tell  the  boys  I'm  all  right,  Finney."  He  did  not 
invite  his  visitor  to  enter. 

Finney  pushed  back  his  cap  and  ran  his  fingers 
through  his  thick  reddish  hair,  while  his  eyes, 
wondering  and  perplexed,  searched  Bryan's  face. 

"Then  I'll  tell  'em  you'll  be  at  the  club  as 
usual,  Sunday?"  he  questioned. 

Bryan  considered  a  moment,  frowning.  Then, 
"  No  "  he  said  with  cold  deliberation,  "  I'm  done 
with  the  club.  I'm  going  to  clear  out  altogether 
for  a  while." 

Finney's  eyes  widened  in  blank  amazement. 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  37 

"  Oh,  no,  Bryan,"  he  cried,  "  you  don't  mean  that 
— say  you  don't.  Why,  it'll  break  the  club  all  up 
to  have  you  go,  and  there's  Tod  Smith,  you  know, 
and  Billy  Coombs  and  Patsey — why,  why,  Bryan, 
we  just  can't  get  along  without  you  no  way." 

"  You'll  have  to,  whether  or  no,"  was  the  grim 
response.  "  I've  turned  over  a  new  leaf,  Fin- 
ney,  and  it  isn't  going  to  read  like  the  old  one, 
that's  all  there  is  about  it." 

Finney  stood  gaping  in  open-mouthed  wonder 
and  dismay  for  a  long  minute.  Then  he  said 
wistfully,  dropping  back  into  the  old  familiar 
name,  "  Tode — I — I — look  here,  is  it  anything 
I've  done?  Because  if  it  is,  I'll  make  it  up  any 
way  I  can  if  you'll  only  tell  me  how.  I  guess  " 
— he  choked  over  the  hurried  words — "  I  guess 
you  don't  realise  how  much  you  mean  to  us  down 
at  the  club,  Tode.  You  do  know,  don't  you,  that 
there's  some  we'll  lose — ive  can't  keep  hold  of  'em 
without  your  help?" 

Bryan's  face  did  not  soften  at  this  appeal, 
though  his  eyes  now  evaded  Finney's. 

"  You'll  have  to  lose  'em,  then — they  can't 
be  hanging  on  to  me  forever,"  he  flung  out 
brusquely.  Then  he  added,  "  See  here,  Finney, 
cut  it  short,  will  you?  I'm  dead  tired — I  want 
to  rest." 

The  hint  was  too  broad  to  be  disregarded. 
Finney  turned  dejectedly  away,  but  Bryan  called 
after  him, "  Say,  Jack,  stop  at  the  chop-house,  will 
you,  and  tell  Dick  that  he  isn't  to  come  up  here 
until  he  hears  from  me.  He  can  run  the  place 


38  THEODORE  BRYAN 

alone  well  enough,  I  guess,  and  if  he  can't,  tell 
him  to  sell  out  and  put  up  the  shutters.  I  don't 
care  what  he  does  with  it." 

"  I'll  tell  him,"  Finney  answered  over  his 
shoulder,  and  went  stumbling  down  the  dark 
hall,  his  eyes  blinded  with  tears.  He  could  not 
believe  that  this  was  the  Bryan  he  had  known 
so  long — this  surly,  morose,  dark-faced  fellow, 
with  no  interest  in  the  things  that,  up  to  now, 
had  been  so  important  to  him.  He  talked  the 
matter  over  with  Dick  Hunt,  who  was  even  more 
concerned  than  he,  for  Dick  loved  Bryan  with 
all  his  heart.  He  listened  in  forlorn  wonder  to 
Finney's  account  of  what  Bryan  had  said,  and 
would  have  set  off  at  once  to  see  his  friend,  but 
Finney  dissuaded  him. 

"  He  wouldn't  even  ask  me  into  his  room — 
acted  as  if  he  grudged  the  few  minutes  I  kept  him 
talking,  and  he  said  you  were  not  to  go  there,  as 
I  told  you." 

"Oh,  but,"  Dick  began  eagerly;  then  with  a 
sigh,  "  well,  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  do  as  he  says, 
then,  but  I  do  hope  he'll  come  around  or  send  for 
me  soon." 

Finney  shook  his  head.  "  He  won't.  He's 
changed  somehow — he  isn't  the  same  fellow  at 
all,"  he  declared. 

Meantime  Bryan  was  having  another  visitor, 
and  one  who  would  not  be  denied.  He  ham- 
mered away  on  the  door  until  Bryan  could  stand 
the  racket  no  longer,  and  flung  it  open  even  more 
reluctantly  than  he  had  opened  it  to  Finney. 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  39 

"  Can't  you  give  a  fellow  any  peace  ?  "  he  de- 
manded angrily,  but  Ted  Marston  smiled  into 
the  dark  face  and  pushed  his  way  into  the  room 
without  waiting  for  the  invitation  which,  per- 
haps, he  suspected  would  not  have  been  forth- 
coming, for  he  had  just  come  from  an  interview 
with  the  dean. 

"  I  know  you  don't  want  to  see  me,  Bryan," 
he  began,  as  he  sat  down,  while  Bryan,  still 
standing,  listened  with  unconcealed  impatience  to 
what  he  had  to  say,  "  but  you  see  I'm  between 
two  fires.  My  father  insists  upon  seeing  you — 
says  I  must  bring  you  over  to  the  hotel — and 
what  father  says  must  be,  generally  is.  I  know 
you're  under  the  weather,  poor  old  chap.  It  is 
awfully  hard  lines,  but  doctors  make  mistakes 
sometimes,  and  I'll  bet  a  cooky  the  one  you  saw 
will  live  to  own  up  that  he  was  wrong  this  time. 
I  knew  a  fellow  once  that  lost  his  voice  same  way 
you  have,  but  in  a  year  or  so  he  was  all  right  and 
could  pipe  up  as  well  as  ever;  and  I  believe 
that's  the  way  it  will  be  with  you.  But  mean- 
time, while  you're  giving  your  voice  a  chance  to 
get  in  shape  again,  this  idea  of  daddy's  may  fit 
in  all  right,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"What  idea?"  Bryan  demanded  shortly. 

"  Oh,  that's  telling,  and  I'm  under  orders  not  to 
tell.  I'm  also  under  orders  to  take  you  over  to 
the  hotel.  How  am  I  to  do  it?  Will  you  trot 
along  comfortably,  or  must  I  pick  you  up  bodily 
and  carry  you  ?  " 

Even  Bryan's  gloomy  face  lightened  a  bit  at 


40  THEODORE  BRYAN 

the  idea  of  Ted,  two  inches  shorter  and  many 
pounds  lighter  than  he,  picking  him  up  and  carry- 
ing him — but  the  lightening  was  only  momentary. 

"  I  don't  want  to  see  anybody  to-night,"  he  said. 

"  That's  tolerably  plain  speaking,"  returned 
Ted  with  a  smile,  and  Ted's  smile  was  one  to 
warm  the  coldest  heart,  "  but,  you  see — there's 
the  pater's  orders.  I  can't  go  back  without  you, 
so  it  looks  as  if  I  should  have  to  camp  down  here 
till  you  have  a  change  of  heart — or  mind,"  and  he 
settled  himself  comfortably  in  his  chair,  pulling 
another  forward  for  his  feet. 

Bryan  scowled  at  him.  "  Marston,  I  know 
I'm  not  very  polite " 

"  Oh,  well,  I  never  knew  you  to  be  twpolite  be- 
fore, and  I  can  certainly  overlook  one  little 
lapse,"  Ted  broke  in  cheerfully. 

Bryan  went  on  gravely,  "  But  I'm  in  the  depths 
to-night  and  I  want  to  be  alone.  Some  other 
time,  perhaps " 

Again  Teddy  interrupted  with  unruffled  com- 
posure and  cheerfulness. 

"  I  know,  my  dear  fellow,  and  if  it  were  my 
own  affair  I'd  be  out  of  this  room  before  you 
could  wink,  but  let  me  remind  you  once  more — 
I'm  under  orders — father's  orders — and  I  don't 
know  how  it  is,  but  dad  has  a  way  of  getting  his 
orders  obeyed;  so  I  really  can't  go  back  and  tell 
him  that  you  won't  come,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

Again  Bryan's  brows  drew  together  in  an  im- 
patient frown,  and  Ted,  watching  him  keenly 
under  his  merry  composure,  added  suggestively: 


IN  THE  DEPTHS  41 

"  Easiest  way  out  of  it  is  to  go  over  yourself  and 
tell  the  pater  that  you'll  have  none  of  him  or  his 
ideas — or  his  son,  ct  present.  Say  we  go — now?  " 

With  an  impatient  breath  Bryan  caught  up  his 
cap  and  Teddy  blithely  followed  his  example ;  but 
as  they  went  down  the  steps,  Bryan  suddenly 
staggered  and  caught  at  the  railing. 

"  Look  here,  Bryan,  when  did  you  eat  last?" 
demanded  Marston  sharply,  his  eyes  on  the 
other's  white  face. 

"  I — don't  remember.  It's  of  no  consequence," 
Bryan  answered,  recovering  himself  with  an 
effort. 

"  Ginger! "  was  Ted's  comment,  and  as  they 
reached  the  street,  he  hailed  the  first  cab  he  saw 
and  pushed  his  friend  into  it.  When  they  were 
set  down  at  the  hotel  he  led  the  way  straight  to 
the  dining-room. 

"  Hush  up ! "  he  said  in  an  imperative  under- 
tone as  Bryan  began  to  remonstrate.  "  Don't  be 
a  fool.  You  can't  hold  out  against  father 
on  an  empty  stomach."  He  gave  an  order  to  the 
waiter,  who  hurried  forward,  pushed  Bryan  into 
a  chair,  and  presently  had  the  satisfaction  of  see- 
ing him  eat  a  hearty  meal. 

"  There,  you  begin  to  look  like  yourself  now !  " 
he  remarked  when  Bryan  rose  from  the  table. 

Bryan  could  not  well  refuse  then  to  see  Mr. 
Marston,  and  presently  he  found  himself  sitting 
in  a  private  parlour,  while  Ted  fidgetted  about 
the  room  audibly  wondering  what  made  his  father 
so  long  in  coming. 


Ill 

A  LOST  YEAR 

WHEN  finally  his  father  appeared,  Ted 
promptly  vanished.  Mr.  Marston  did 
not  fail  to  take  full  note  of  the  change 
in  the  young  man  who  rose  to  meet  him — a 
change  that  would  have  been  evident  to  much  less 
observant  eyes  than  his. 

"  You  have  been  ill,"  he  began  abruptly. 

"  No,  I'm  all  right,  except  my  voice,"  was  the 
indifferent  answer. 

"  You've  had  advice  in  regard  to  that  ?  " 

Bryan  nodded.  "  Yes,  permanent  weakness, 
the  doctor  says,"  he  returned  briefly;  then  dis- 
missing the  subject — "  Ted  said  that  you  wanted 
to  see  me,  Mr.  Marston." 

"  Yes,  I  did — I  do.  My  son  tells  me  that  you 
intend  to  enter  the  ministry." 

A  dark  flush  swept  swiftly  over  the  young 
man's  face  and  his  mouth  hardened.  "  That 
was  a  dream.  I'm  awake  now,"  was  the  curt 
response. 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  have  other 
plans?" 

"  No.  It  means  that  I  have  no  plans,  except 
42 


A  LOST  YEAR  43 

to  get  away  from  this  city.  I — I  can't  breathe 
here,  now."  He  threw  back  his  head  like  one 
suffocating. 

"  Perhaps,  then,  you  may  be  inclined  to  con- 
sider a  proposition  that  I  am  going  to  make  to 
you.  I  am  always  on  the  lookout  for  strong,  able 
young  men,  men  of  high  character  and  large 
ability,  with  a  good  physique  to  back  them  up. 
I  believe  that  you  are  such  a  young  man.  I  think 
so  partly  on  my  own  judgment,  partly  from  what 
I  have  heard  of  you  and  of  what  you  have  al- 
ready accomplished.  Are  you  willing  to  consider 
an  offer  ?  " 

"  To  consider  it — yes,  if  you  want  to  make  it 
after  I  have  told  you  certain  things.  Mr. 
Marston,  you  have  spoken  of  my  ability  and  high 
character.  I  haven't  any  unusual  ability.  What- 
ever I  have  accomplished  has  been  done  by  stick- 
ing everlastingly  at  it — working  summer  and 
winter,  day  and  night.  As  to  high  character — I 
don't  know  exactly  what  you  understand  by  that 
term,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I've  been 
through  a  sort  of  moral  revolution  in  the  past 
two  days.  All  my  life,  until  two  days  ago,  I've 
been  what  is  called  '  a  Christian.'  Now  I  am 
nothing  but  a  man,  and  maybe  my  character  isn't 
—or  won't  be — high  enough  to  suit  you." 

"  Why  are  you  telling  me  this  ?  " 

Bryan  looked  puzzled.  Then  he  answered: 
"  Because  it  wouldn't  be  honest  not  to.  Of 
course  a  man's  got  to  be  honest,"  he  ended 
slowly. 


44  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  That  will  do,"  the  other  man  told  him.  "  I'll 
trust  you  and  your  honesty.  Now  then,  when 
can  you  come  to  New  York?" 

"  The  sooner  the  better.  To-night,  if  you 
wish." 

"  Very  well,  we  are  returning  to-morrow,  and 
Ted  will  be  glad  of  your  company.  You  have 
no  questions  to  ask  about  the  business,  or  the 
salary  you  will  have  ?  " 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  ?  "  Bryan  re- 
turned coldly.  "  Mr.  Marston,  I  want  you  to 
understand  that  I  would  have  accepted  to-night 
almost  any  offer  from  any  man — so  it  meant 
getting  away  from  here."  Then  with  an  after- 
thought, he  added  indifferently :  "  Very  likely  I 
shall  not  suit  you  anyhow.  You  can  try  me  for  a 
month,  and  see." 

"Very  well.  I'll  give  you  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars  for  that  month  on  condition  that,  if 
I  am  suited,  you  will  sign  a  contract  for  two 
years.  Do  you  agree  ?  " 

Bryan  nodded  carelessly ;  then  he  rose.  "  I 
have  a  few  things  to  attend  to,"  he  said,  "so  if 
you  have  nothing  further  to  say  to  me  now " 

"Nothing  but — thank  you,  and  good-night," 
Mr.  Marston  returned.  "  We  go  by  the  Fall 
River  boat,"  he  added.  "  The  train  leaves  the 
South  Station  here  at  six-thirty,  I  believe.  We 
shall  reserve  a  seat  for  you  in  the  Pullman." 

"  No,  please.  I'll  go  in  the  other  car  and  meet 
you  at  the  boat,"  Bryan  answered,  and  was  gone 
before  any  further  word  could  be  said. 


A  LOST  YEAR  45 

"  Well,  daddy — caught  your  bird  ?  "  was  Ted's 
eager  greeting  as  his  father  returned. 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Marston  answered. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  one-er ! "  Ted  declared,  his 
eyes  widening  in  surprise.  "  But  all  the  same, 
father,  you  never  would  have  got  him  if  he'd 
been  the  same  old  Bryan.  I  never  saw  such  a 
change  in  a  fellow — and  all  because  he's  lost  his 
voice.  The  professor  is  all  broken  up  over  it — 
fairly  wiped  his  eyes  while  he  was  telling  me. 
Said  he  couldn't  understand  such  a  total  upset. 
Why,  I've  been  telling  Marjie  here — you  know 
Bryan  has  been  a  regular  Puritan,  church  and 
Sunday  School  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.,  and  all  that  club 
work,  and  now  he  solemnly  declares  that  he 
doesn't  believe  in  God  at  all.  Seems  he  just 
can't  believe  in  a  God  that  would  let  him  work 
for  years  to  get  ready  to  be  a  minister,  and  then 
turn  him  down!  My  word,  'tis  tough  too,  for 
his  heart  was  just  set  on  that  preaching,  and  now 
he's  going  to  chuck  the  whole  blessed  business. 
I  reckon,"  Teddy  added  thoughtfully,  "  those 
little  chaps  at  the  club  will  be  badly  broken  up. 
They  think  Bryan's  all  there  is." 

"  It  simply  shows  how  absolutely  his  heart  was 
set  on  doing  that  work,"  Mr.  Marston  returned. 
"  After  all  it  is  only  natural  for  one  of  Bryan's 
strong  character  to  take  it  so.  He  offered  him- 
self and  all  that  he  may  be — whole-heartedly — 
and  he  feels  that  his  offering  has  been  rejected." 

"That's  it  exactly— that's  what  he  said  in 
other  words  to  the  dean.  Poor  old  Bryan,  I'm 


46  THEODORE  BRYAN 

sorry.  He'll  never  be  the  same  fellow  he  was, 
and  we  all  loved  him  well.  I  tell  you,  father,  if 
he  could  realise  the  influence  that  he  has — if  he 
could  realise  how  the  stand  he  is  taking  now 
will  shake  the  faith  of  more  than  a  few  who 
have  looked  up  to  him — he'd  think  twice  about 
it  all.  He's  going  to  be  mighty  sorry,  I  tell  you, 
if  he  ever  does  come  to  his  senses." 

Mar j  one  was  watching  her  cousin  in  frank 
amazement.  Now  she  said  slowly,  "  Why,  Ted, 
I  didn't  know  that  you  cared  for — for  those 
things." 

"What  things?"  he  flung  at  her  a  little 
sharply. 

"  Why,  religion — and  slum  work,  and  all  those 
things  that  Bryan  has  forsworn." 

"  Well,  you  don't  know  quite  everything,  you 
see,"  he  answered,  "  and  besides,  I'm  not  sure  yet 
how  much  I  do  care  for  them.  I  half  promised 
Bryan  that  I'd  spend  six  months  with  him  down 
at  his  settlement,  but  that's  all  off  now,  of 
course." 

"  You — at  a  settlement !  Why,  Teddy  Marston, 
who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing!"  Marjorie 
cried,  divided  between  amusement  and  some 
other  emotion  which  she  could  not  quite  define  at 
the  moment.  Then  she  turned  to  her  uncle. 
"  Uncle  Ned,  you  wouldn't  let  him  live  in  a  set- 
tlement, would  you  ?  " 

Her  uncle's  answer  amazed  her  yet  more.  "  If 
he  wants  to  try  it,  I  have  no  objection,"  he  said, 
and  added  with  a  laugh,  "  I  don't  think  you  need 


A  LOST  YEAR  47 

be  disturbed,  Marjorie;  you  know  how  short- 
lived Ted's  fancies  are  apt  to  be.  And  anyhow, 
I  don't  think  it  would  hurt  him  to  spend  a  few 
months  finding  out,  from  personal  observation, 
'  how  the  other  half  lives.'  " 

"  Well,  Teddy  Marston,"  Marjorie  broke  out 
after  a  moment's  silent  reflection  over  that,  "  if 
you  do  go  settlementing,  I  shall  go  too — so  there ! 
Nellie  Hanson  is  going  into  a  settlement  house 
next  fall.  She  knows  some  girls  who  lived  there 
last  year,  and  they  are  just  wild  over  it.  They 
say  it's  no  end  of  fun." 

"  Fun! "  echoed  her  cousin  scornfully.  "  Well, 
now  let  me  tell  you,  Miss  Armstrong,  you  wouldn't 
find  it  your  idea  of  fun,  whatever  Nellie  Hanson 
may  say  about  it.  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about 
— a  little.  Remember  I've  been  down  a  number 
of  times  to  Bryan's  club  and  to  the  settlement 
houses  where  some  of  our  fellows  were  helping. 
You'd  just  hate  it — the  dirt  and  grime  of  it  all, 
and  the  kind  of  people  you'd  have  to  rub  up 
against.  Oh !  "  He  threw  back  his  head  sud- 
denly and  broke  into  laughter.  "  I  can  just  see 
you  with  your  silks  and  your  finicky  white  gowns 
trailing  around  over  those  bare  floors,  and  the 
kids  mauling  you  with  their  sticky  fingers,  and 
kissing  you  with  their  dirty  faces — how  you 
would  love  it,  just  I" 

Marjorie  pouted,  lifting  a  disdainful  chin. 
"  Oh,  you  can  laugh,"  she  retorted,  "  but  I  shall 
try  it  all  the  same  just  as  sure  as  you  do — so 
there!" 


48  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Come,  come,  little  girl,  it  isn't  worth  while 
for  you  to  get  wrought  up  over  it  yet  awhile," 
Mr.  Marston  interposed  quietly.  "  Ted  hasn't 
gone  into  residence  in  a  settlement  house  yet, 
remember." 

"  No,  father,  but  maybe  you  don't  know  how 
many  of  the  Harvard  alumni  are  going  into  that 
sort  of  thing,"  Ted  persisted.  "  Some  give  all 
their  time  for  a  year  or  two,  and  a  good  many 
give  one  or  two  days  or  evenings  a  week.  You'd 
be  surprised,  I  think,  if  I  should  give  you  the  list 
of  names  of  men  that  I  know  who  are  doing  more 
or  less  in  this  line." 

"  Well,  they  couldn't  accomplish  much  without 
money,"  Mr.  Marston  observed  thoughtfully, 
"  so  I  don't  see  but  that  we  who  make  the  money, 
and  give  it  to  support  such  work,  are  doing  our 
full  share,  even  if  we  don't  ourselves  go  down 
into  the  slums  to  work,  or  to  live,"  and  at  that, 
with  a  little  shiver  and  a  long  sigh  of  relief, 
Marjorie  settled  back  in  her  chair,  and  glanced 
approvingly  down  at  the  dainty  gown  she  wore. 
Also  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  give 
Nellie  Hanson  a  liberal  check  for  her  settlement, 
the  very  next  day,  and  so — and  so  she  need  not 
think  any  more  about  those  horrid  slum  people. 
What  was  the  use  after  all  of  thinking  about 
disagreeable  people  or  things  when  one  didn't 
have  to? 

But  she  found  her  interest  in  Bryan  unaccount- 
ably growing.  He  must  be  an  unusual  fellow  in- 
deed to  get  such  an  influence  over  Teddy,  she 


A  LOST  YEAR  49 

thought.  So  when  he  joined  them  on  the  Fall 
River  boat  the  next  night,  she  was  prepared  to 
be  very  kind  to  him.  Of  course  she  could  not 
treat  him  exactly  as  she  would  other  friends  of 
Teddy's.  She  could  not  forget  what  his  life  had 
been,  in  the  beginning.  He  did  not  belong  in  her 
world  and  never  could — that  went  without  saying 
— but  still  one  couldn't  help  being  interested  in 
seeing  what  he  would  make  of  himself,  now  that 
Uncle  Ned  had  taken  him  up. 

But  when  Bryan  appeared,  it  was  quite  evident 
that  he  had  no  interest  whatever  in  Miss  Mar- 
jorie  Armstrong.  He  bowed  and  said  "  Good- 
evening,"  and  after  that  apparently  quite  forgot 
her  existence.  Even  to  her  uncle  and  cousin  he 
had  very  little  to  say,  she  noticed,  and  in  a  short 
time  he  excused  himself,  and  did  not  join  them 
again  until  they  reached  New  York  the  next 
morning.  And  after  that  it  was  many  weeks  be- 
fore Marjorie  saw  him  again,  but  she  heard  of 
him  frequently  through  Teddy  and  his  father. 

Mr.  Marston  was  evidently  more  than  satisfied 
with  the  young  man.  He  had  made  no  mistake, 
he  was  sure,  in  securing  Bryan,  who  manifested 
even  more  clear-headed  business  sagacity  than 
he  had  expected.  Teddy,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
outspoken  in  his  disappointment.  Bryan  might 
do  great  things  in  business,  but  he  wasn't  half  the 
man  he  had  been,  so  Ted  declared  with  convic- 
tion. He  shut  himself  up  like  a  clam,  and  you 
couldn't  get  a  word  or  a  smile  out  of  him ;  and 
selfish — well,  truly,  he  never  seemed  now  to  think 


50  THEODORE  BRYAN 

of  anybody  or  anything  but  himself.  Oh,  the 
business — of  course  he  attended  to  that,  but  it 
was  just  because  it  was  his  own  business — and 
only  think  how  he  used  to  be  helping  everybody 
else !  It  was  a  shame  to  see  a  good  fellow  shrivel 
up  into  nothing  but  a  money-grubber  before  he 
was  thirty!  As  to  the  settlement  work,  that 
seemed  to  hang  fire  with  Teddy.  The  truth  was 
that  he  needed  encouragement,  and  now  there 
was  no  one  to  give  it  to  him.  His  father  told 
him  to  do  as  he  pleased.  Marjorie  mocked  at 
the  idea,  and  finally  Ted  suddenly  decided  to  go 
abroad  for  a  year.  When  he  came  back,  he 
would  be  ready  to  decide  whether  he  would  go 
into  the  office,  as  he  knew  his  father  hoped  he 
would,  or  have  a  try  at  something  else — maybe 
the  settlement  life.  So  Ted  sailed  away  in 
search  of  adventure. 

At  the  end  of  the  trial  month,  Bryan  was  sum- 
moned to  Mr.  Marston's  private  office,  where  he 
found  that  gentleman  awaiting  him. 

"  Well,  Bryan,  the  month  is  ended,"  Mr. 
Marston  began,  motioning  the  young  man  to  a 
seat.  "  How  about  that  two-year  contract  ?  Are 
you  ready  to  sign  it  now  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  are  satisfied,"  Bryan  answered. 

"  You  like  the  business  ?  " 

Bryan's  sombre  eyes  brightened.  "  Indeed  I 
do,  Mr.  Marston,"  he  said  quickly,  but  at  once  he 
added,  "  I  don't  want  to  sign  the  contract  though, 
unless  you  are  entirely  satisfied  that  I  can  meet 
your  requirements." 


A  LOST  YEAR  51 

"  I  am  entirely  satisfied,"  the  other  replied. 
He  picked  up  a  paper  from  his  desk.  "  Read 
that  over,  and  see  if  you  have  any  objection  to 
the  conditions." 

Bryan  read  the  paper  carefully,  then  lifted  a 
face  flushed  with  surprise  and  pleasure.  "  How 
could  I  have  any  objections?  "  he  asked.  "  Only 
I  don't  feel  that  I  am  worth  such  a  salary  as  you 
offer— yet." 

"  Do  you  think  you  will  be,  before  the  year  is 
out?" 

For  a  moment  the  young  man  hesitated;  then 
he  said  quietly,  "  Yes,  I  do — though  I  must 
confess  that  it  sounds  rather  conceited  for  me  to 
say  so." 

"  No,  it  is  not  conceit ;  you  believe  in  yourself, 
and  you  have  reason  to.  I  also  believe  in  you; 
if  I  didn't,  I  should  not  have  offered  you  those 
terms.  Sign  the  contract  then,  and  we  will  con- 
sider the  matter  settled." 

Bryan  took  the  pen  and  dipped  it  in  the  ink, 
then  for  a  long  minute  he  held  it  suspended  over 
the  paper.  His  employer,  watching  his  face, 
would  have  given  much  to  know  the  meaning  of 
the  changing  expressions  that  passed  swiftly  over 
it.  When  at  last  Bryan's  mouth  hardened,  and 
with  a  rapid,  steady  hand  he  signed  the  paper, 
Mr.  Marston  smiled  with  satisfaction.  For  that 
one  moment  he  had  feared  that  the  contract 
would  not  be  signed,  and  he  wanted  this  young 
man — wanted  him  much. 

From  this  time  Bryan  seemed  to  have  no  in- 


52  THEODORE  BRYAN 

terest  in  anything  except  the  business.  Steadily 
and  rapidly  he  mastered  every  detail  of  his  own 
department,  but  he  did  not  stop  there.  Six 
months  later,  when  there  was  a  vacancy  in  an- 
other department,  he  asked  if  he  might  fill  it. 
Mr.  Marston  seemed  at  first  amused  at  the  re- 
quest. 

"  Why,  Bryan,"  he  reminded  him,  "  that  posi- 
tion carries  a  thousand  a  year  less.  That  would 
be  demotion  instead  of  promotion/' 

"  That's  of  no  consequence.  It's  the  knowl- 
edge I  want  now  more  than  the  money.  There 
are  some  things  in  that  department  that  I  don't 
fully  understand.  Can  I  have  the  place,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  can  if  we  can  find  some  one  to  take  the 
work  you  are  doing  now,"  Mr.  Marston  replied, 
"  but  really,  Bryan,  I  don't  know  who  can  do  it. 
You  know  we  are  rather  short-handed." 

"  Suppose  you  give  me  a  couple  of  assistants  to 
do  the  detail  work  of  the  two  departments," 
Bryan  suggested.  "  I  think  I  can  manage  both 
in  that  way,  at  least  until  you  can  find  a  man  to 
put  in  my  place." 

"  Very  well — and  how  about  salary  ?  " 

"  The  salary  I  am  getting  now  is  more  than  I 
need — more  than  I  ought  to  have  had  anyway 
this  first  year.  Fix  that  part  of  it  to  suit  your- 
self, Mr.  Marston.  What  I  want  is  the  chance 
to  learn  all  parts  of  the  business." 

"  Very  well,"  Mr.  Marston  said  again,  "  you 
can  see  then  if  you  can  run  both  departments. 
Select  your  own  assistants  from  the  force,  and 


A  LOST  YEAR  53 

we'll  see  how  it  works.  I  fancy  you'll  find  that 
this  time  you  have  undertaken  more  than  you 
can  manage.  If  you  do  find  it  so,  just  let  me 
know,  and  we'll  make  some  other  arrangement." 

But  no  other  arrangement  was  necessary,  and 
Bryan  had  charge  of  both  departments  for  the 
remainder  of  the  year. 

In  June  Teddy  came  home,  overflowing 
with  life  and  energy.  Marjorie  acknowledged 
to  herself  that  the  year  abroad  had  done  much 
for  him.  He  had  gone  away  a  boy,  but  he 
seemed  to  have  left  his  boyish  gaiety  and  thought- 
lessness across  the  seas.  He  was  a  man  now, 
looking  at  life  seriously  and  thoughtfully,  though 
under  a  mask  of  gay  indifference. 


IV 

RECALLED 

A'EW  days  after  Ted's  return,  Bryan  pre- 
sented himself  in  Mr.  Marston's  private 
office. 

"  I've  come  to  ask  for  leave  of  absence  for  a 
few  days,"  he  said,  as  usual  going  straight  to  the 
point.  "  You  told  me  that  I  might  have  a  month's 
vacation.  Is  there  any  objection  to  my  taking  a 
week  of  it  now  ?  " 

"  None  whatever,  if  you  can  arrange  with 
Tyler  to  look  after  things  while  you  are  gone," 
Mr.  Marston  answered. 

Bryan  looked  a  little  doubtful.  "  I  think  he 
can  do  it — I've  attended  to  everything  that  could 
be  arranged  ahead,  but  there  are  one  or  two 
matters  that  I'm  a  bit  anxious  about.  If  you 
could  see  to  those,  I'd  feel  easier  about 
going " 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course  I'll  see  to  any  matter  of 
importance,"  the  other  returned,  and  the  two  dis- 
cussed the  business  in  question.  Then  Bryan 
rose. 

"  When  do  you  leave  ?  "  Mr.  Marston  inquired. 

"  To-morrow — or  no,  I  think  I'll  go  by  the  boat 
to-night,"  Bryan  returned.  He  paused  as  if  half- 
64 


RECALLED  55 

inclined  to  say  more,  but  thought  better  of  it, 
and  left  the  office  with  a  brief  good-bye. 

Mr.  Marston  looked  after  him  thoughtfully. 
"  I  wonder  now  what  it  was  he  came  so  near  say- 
ing," lie  mused.  "  Curious  fellow  he  is.  Too 
reserved  by  half,  but  he  might  have  much  worse 
faults  than  that." 

Bryan  went  straight  to  his  boarding  place, 
flung  a  few  things  into  a  suitcase,  and  reached 
the  pier  just  two  minutes  before  the  boat 
left.  As  he  sat  on  the  deck  looking  across 
at  the  green  shores  slipping  behind,  he 
found  himself  wondering  perplexedly  why  he 
was  there.  He  could  not  tell  why.  For  a  week 
past  he  had  felt  that  he  must  go  back  to  Boston. 
He  did  not  want  to  go — indeed  he  wanted  not 
to  go — but  something  stronger  than  his  own 
strong  will  had  impelled  him.  Now,  watching 
the  fast-receding  shores,  he  wished  that  he  had 
not  come.  What  interests  had  he  now  in  Boston, 
he  asked  himself ;  and  answered,  "  None."  And 
friends?  He  winced  at  that  question.  Yes,  he 
had  friends,  good  and  true,  and  his  conscience 
told  him  that  he  had  not  treated  them  well  in  this 
past  year.  He  moved  uncomfortably  in  his  seat. 
He  resented  this  new  activity  on  the  part  of  his 
conscience  or  whatever  it  was  that  was  making 
these  unpleasant  reminders.  Conscience  had 
been  silent,  mostly,  through  the  past  twelve 
months.  Why  should  it  suddenly  start  up  in  this 
way  ?  He  would  not  listen.  Had  he  not  a  right 
to  live  his  own  life  in  his  own  fashion?  His 


56  THEODORE  BRYAN 

face  flushed  suddenly.  Well,  what  if  he  had 
meant  to  try  pleasure  of  all  sorts?  He  hadn't 
done  it  yet,  but  he  still  meant  to,  when  the  right 
time  came.  Meantime  he  found  pleasure  enough 
in  mastering  the  details  of  a  great  business. 
Power — power — yes,  that  was  what  he  wanted 
first.  That  was  what  he  would  have  too — power 
and  money — and  then,  all  that  life  had  to  offer. 
So  ran  his  thoughts,  but  every  now  and  then 
conscience  would  slip  in  one  of  those  disconcert- 
ing reminders.  He  would  have  strangled  his 
conscience  willingly,  had  it  been  possible,  long 
before  sleep  came  to  his  relief. 

He  took  the  train  at  Fall  River,  reaching 
Boston  before  eight  o'clock.  In  the  station  he 
hesitated  for  a  moment.  Should  he  stop  for 
breakfast?  No — again  urged  forward  by  that 
irresistible  force,  he  passed  quickly  out  and 
boarded  a  street  car.  Fifteen  minutes  later  he 
left  the  car,  and  stopped  doubtful,  uncertain, 
on  a  street  corner.  Should  he  go  to  Nan's? 
Where  should  he  go?  Why  was  he  here,  any- 
how? His  place  was  not  here;  it  was  in  New 
York,  in  the  office.  He  would  take  the  next 
train  back 

A  man  coming  slowly  down  the  street  glanced 
at  him,  then  hurried  forward  and  stopped  before 
him,  the  wonder  and  incredulity  in  his  face 
changing  to  a  great  joy. 

"  Theo — Theo!  I  can  hardly  believe  my  eyes," 
he  cried,  grasping  Bryan's  hand  in  a  close,  warm 
grip.  "  And  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  my  sur- 


RECALLED  57 

prise,  too — I  ought  to  have  expected  to  meet  you 
this  morning." 

"  Why  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  Bryan  asked. 
"  Why  should  you  have  expected  to  meet  me 
when  I  myself  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  of  coming 
until  yesterday  ?  " 

"  Yesterday  ?  "  the  other  questioned  gravely. 
"  Didn't  you  think  of  coming  until  yesterday, 
Theo?" 

"Well "  Bryan  hesitated,  "not  really." 

Then  with  an  evident  effort  he  added  frankly, 
"  I'll  make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  Allan.  For  a 
week  past  it  has  seemed  as  if  something  was  pull- 
ing me  back  to  Boston,  and  against  my  will,  too, 
for  I  didn't  want  to  come.  I  never  had  such  a 
feeling  before  and  I  couldn't  understand  it;  but 
finally  it  got  too  strong  to  be  resisted,  and  I 
dropped  everything  and  came — what  for,  I  don't 
know."  Then,  a  sudden  swift  anxiety  springing 
into  his  eyes — "  There  isn't  anything  wrong  with 
Nan  is  there — or  Bennie  ?  " 

"  Nan  is  all  right,"  returned  the  other,  "  but 
Bennie — Theo,"  he  added  reverently,  "  we  have 
been  praying  for  your  coming  all  the  past  week 
— Nan  and  I.  God  brought  you  here.  I  was 
sure  He  would — and  yet  I  was  surprised  to  see 
you." 

A  strange  expression — half  wonder,  half  fear 
— swept  across  Bryan's  face,  as  he  questioned 
anxiously,  "  What's  wrong  with  Bennie  ?  Is  he 
sick?"  ' 

Mr.  Scott  shook  his  head.    "  No,  that  would  be 


58  THEODORE  BRYAN 

a  small  matter,  comparatively.  But  we  can't  talk 
here — come  on  home  with  me.  Nan  will  be  so 
glad  to  see  you !  " 

It  was  but  a  few  minutes'  walk,  and  Nan  was 
unquestionably  glad  to  see  him.  She  was  a 
sweet-faced  young  woman  of  thirty  or  there- 
abouts, with  a  blue-eyed  baby  in  her  arms  and 
another  clinging  to  her  skirts.  She  plumped  the 
little  one  into  her  husband's  arms  that  her  own 
might  be  free  to  pull  Bryan's  face  down  to  hers. 

"  Oh,  Theo,  if  you  had  been  here  it  never 
would  have  happened,"  she  sobbed,  while  Bryan 
poured  out  swift,  anxious  questions. 

"  Sit  down,  Nan,  and  tell  him  quietly,"  Mr. 
Scott  said,  pushing  her  gently  into  a  chair,  and 
Nan  obeyed. 

"  He's  never  been  the  same — Bennie  hasn't — 
since  you  went  away,  Theo,"  she  began.  "  You 
know  how  he  loved  you,  and  after  you  went  to 
Harvard  and  he  began  to  plan  to  go  there  too,  he 
looked  up  to  you  and  copied  you  in  every  way  he 
could.  We  used  to  laugh  at  him  about  it,"  her 
lip  quivered,  but  she  controlled  herself  and  hur- 
ried on,  "  and  you  know  he  was  so  quick  and 
bright  that  he  entered  last  fall  without  a  single 
condition — as  I  wrote  you. 

"  But  after  you  went  away,  we  noticed  a 
change  in  him.  He  was  eften  at  the  club  at 
first,  talking  with  the  boys,  and  with  Finney  and 
Dick  Hunt  about  you,  and  with  others  too.  You 
see,"  her  blue  eyes  searched  his  face  anxiously, 
"  you  see,  Theo,  it  had  got  about  somehow  that 


RECALLED  59 

you  were  changed  too — that  you  didn't  care  now 
for  the  things  you  had  always  cared  so  much  for. 
Theo,  they  told  him  that  you  didn't  believe  in 
God  any  more — the  boys  told  him  that,  and — 
Bennie's  only  a  boy  himself,  you  know — and  he 
got  the  idea  that  it  was  manly  to  take  that  stand. 
He  told  Finney  that  what  Theo  believed  was 
good  enough  for  him.  Then  when  he  entered 
college  he  got  to  going  with  a  set  of  boys  who  en- 
couraged him  in  that  sort  of  talk.  I  can't  think 
he  really  believed  it,  but  you  know  how  such 
boys  like  to  talk — sometimes.  He  got  in  with 
that  wild  set,  and  he's  been  in  several  scrapes  this 
past  winter,  and  we've  had  trouble  in  getting 
him  out.  I  don't  know  what  we  should  have 
done  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  dean — he  has  been 
so  kind!  And  so  things  have  gone  on  all  the 
year,  and  now  Bennie  has  not  been  home  for  a 
week,  and  we  can't  find  out  where  he  is.  Oh, 
Theo,  I  have  wanted  you  so !  But  you  wouldn't 

answer  my  letters,  and "  her  voice  wavered 

and  broke,  as  she  wiped  the  tears  from  her  cheeks. 

Bryan  had  listened  in  absolute  silence,  but  the 
conscience  that  had  seemed  to  sleep  through  the 
past  year  was  wide  awake  now,  and  he  shrank 
from  the  things  it  was  saying  to  him.  He  must 
face  it  later — he  knew  that — but  there  was  some- 
thing else  to  be  done  first. 

"  You  say  Bennie  has  not  been  home  for  a 
week.  Tell  me  everything.  When  did  he  go 
off,  and  where?" 

"  It  was  just  after  Commencement  that  he 


60  THEODORE  BRYAN 

went,  with  three  or  four  of  the  college  boys. 
They  were  to  camp  out  for  a  week  somewhere 
up  in  the  mountains  in  New  Hampshire,  Bennie 
said." 

"  Well,  that's  all  right,  isn't  it?  " 

"  But,"  Nan  quavered,  "  they  didn't  go  camp- 
ing, Theo — at  least,  if  they  did,  they  didn't  stay 
more  than  a  day  or  two,  for  Dick  Hunt  saw  Ben- 
nie and  another  boy  coming  out  of  Reilly's  saloon 
four  days  ago,  and  some  one  else  saw  them  the 
day  after  that.  So  we  don't  know  where  he  is, 
only  of  course,  if  everything  was  right,  we  know 
he  would  come  home  to  us.  I've  been  almost  wild 
about  it.  Allan  has  made  inquiries  wherever  he 
thought  Bennie  might  possibly  be,  but  we  can't 
get  any  trace  of  him,  and  that's  why  we " 

"  You  what  ?  "  Bryan  inquired,  as  she  stopped 
abruptly. 

Nan  answered  in  a  low  tone.  "  Theo,  Allan 
and  I  have  been  praying  that  you  might  come 
and  help  us.  All  this  week  I've  been  asking,  for 
somehow  I  felt  sure  that  God  would  send  you — 
that  He  would  let  you  find  Bennie  and  save  him 
for  us." 

To  that  Bryan  answered  nothing.  He  asked  a 
few  more  questions,  then  caught  up  his  hat  and 
turned  towards  the  door,  but  paused  to  say,  "  I'll 
find  the  boy  if  he  is  in  this  city,  Nan.  Is  the 
club  still  open  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  there  is  left  of  it.  Finney  keeps 
the  rooms  open,  but  the  club  has  been  running 
down  sadly  this  past  year.  Many  of  the  boys 


RECALLED  61 

hang  around  the  saloons  now  as  they  used  to  do, 
before  you  got  hold  of  them,"  Mr.  Scott  told  him. 
Bryan's  only  response  was  a  nod,  and  then  he  was 
gone. 

Straight  to  the  club  he  went.  He  found  a  few 
little  fellows  at  the  tables  in  the  reading-room, 
early  as  it  was,  and  Jack  Finney  was  busy  at  his 
desk.  He  looked  up  as  Bryan  entered,  stared  in- 
credulously for  a  moment,  then,  with  a  shout  of 
joy,  he  rushed  forward  with  outstretched  hands. 

"Bryan!"  he  cried.  "  This  is  'most  too  good 
to  be  true.  Do  say  you've  come  back  to  stay !  " 

"  Never  mind  that  now,"  returned  Bryan. 
"  I've  got  to  find  Bennie  Hoyt.  Tell  me  any- 
thing you  know  about  him,  Jack.  Scott  said  some 
of  the  boys  had  seen  him  around  Reilly's  place. 
When  was  that  ?  " 

"  It  was  Saturday  that  he  was  seen  there — he 
and  a  fellow  named  Follett.  They've  been  to- 
gether for  months,  those  two — a  bad  thing  for 
Bennie.  Follett's  no  good." 

Again  Bryan  asked  a  few  rapid  questions,  then 
he  was  off,  leaving  Finney  in  a  maze  of  doubt 
and  perplexity,  while  the  small  boys  swiftly  de- 
parted to  spread  the  news  of  Bryan's  return. 

Finney  shook  his  head  as  he  went  back  to  his 
desk.  "  He  ain't  the  old  Bryan  yet,"  he  said  to 
himself,  "  but  he's  a  bit  more  like  it  than  he  was 
that  time  I  saw  him  before  he  went  away.  I  hope 
he  does  find  Bennie  Hoyt.  That's  another  fine 
chap  gone  wrong,  and  I  reckon  Bryan's  respon- 
sible for  that,  too." 


62  THEODORE  BRYAN 

For  two  days  and  most  of  two  nights  Bryan 
carried  on  the  search  unceasingly,  but  he  found 
no  other  trace  of  Bennie.  The  third  day,  at  night- 
fall, he  went  reluctantly  back  to  Nan.  The  long 
strain  of  anxiety  was  telling  severely  on  her. 
He  saw  that,  and  did  his  best  to  cheer  her. 

"  I  must  rest  to-night,"  he  said,  "  but  in  the 
morning  I'll  start  off  again.  You  mustn't  get 
discouraged,  Nan.  I'm  not  going  to  give  it 
up  till  I  find  little  brother,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that." 

"  It's  good  to  hear  you  call  him  that  again — it 
reminds  me  of  the  old  days,  Theo,"  Nan  an- 
swered, trying  to  smile  through  the  tears  that 
would  come.  "  But  it's  so  long !  I  can't  think 
Bennie  would  be  right  here  in  the  city  all  these 
days  and  never  come  home.  He  would  know 
well  how  anxious  I  should  be." 

"  Oh,  such  youngsters  don't  think,"  Bryan  told 
her.  "  And  maybe  he  isn't  in  town  at  all.  More 
likely  Follett  has  persuaded  him  to  go  off  some- 
where else  with  him.  I  expect  they  didn't  like 
the  camping-place  where  they  went  first,  and  so 
moved  on  to  some  other." 

"But  if  those  boys  saw  them  here  in 
town " 

"  Oh,  likely  as  not  they  were  mistaken,"  Bryan 
answered  lightly.  "  I'm  not  banking  much  on 
that  story.  I'll  go  to  bed  right  after  supper  and 
get  a  few  hours'  sleep ;  then  I'll  set  out  again  on  a 
fresh  trail." 

Bryan  slept  soundly  till  about  midnight.    Then 


Long  and  hungrily  his  eyes  dwelt  on  the  strong  earnest 

face  ...  the  idol  of  his  neglected  boyhood, 

the  ideal  of  his  later  days 


RECALLED  63 

suddenly  he  started  up,  very  wide  awake.  Strik- 
ing a  match,  he  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  fif- 
teen minutes  after  twelve.  He  felt  rested  and  re- 
freshed, and  dressed  hurriedly,  determined  to 
set  forth  at  once.  There  were  all-night  places 
which  he  had  visited  many  a  time  before  this,  in 
search  of  straying  boys.  Perhaps  the  boy  he  was 
seeking  now  was  in  one  of  them. 

But  strangely  enough,  when  he  was  ready  to 
set  out  the  impulse  to  do  so  suddenly  left  him. 
Wondering  and  half -bewildered,  he  sat  down  to 
wait  for — what  ?  He  did  not  know.  As  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  his  perplexed  glance  was  ar- 
rested by  a  picture  that  hung  on  the  wall  be- 
fore him.  It  must  have  been  placed  there  during 
his  absence  the  day  before — he  was  certain  that 
it  had  not  been  there  previously,  for  he  could  not 
have  failed  to  see  it.  Long  and  hungrily  his  eyes 
dwelt  on  the  strong,  earnest  face  with  its  massive, 
noble  lines — how  well  he  knew  them,  every  one ! 
The  clear,  keen,  tender  eyes  seemed  to  search  his 
very  soul,  and  his  soul  melted  within  him  as  he 
looked,  while  in  a  flash  memory  held  up  before 
him  other  pictures — living  pictures — of  this  great, 
good  man,  the  idol  of  his  neglected  boyhood, 
the  ideal  of  his  later  years.  Again  he  felt  the 
thrill  that  ran  through  him  on  that  never-to-be- 
forgotten  Sabbath  when  a  strong  kind  hand  was 
laid  on  his  shoulder  and  he  looked  up  for  the  first 
time  into  that  face,  and  met  the  tender  smile  that 
won  his  boyish  heart  for  all  time.  He  saw  the 
splendid,  stately  figure  in  the  pulpit,  and  heard 


64  THEODORE  BRYAN 

again  the  resonant  voice  pouring  out  a  swift  tor- 
rent of  burning  words.  He  saw  the  same  mas- 
sive figure  sitting  in  a  bare  room  with  little 
white-faced  children  in  his  arms  and  about  his 
knees,  while  he  told  them  stories,  and  fed  them 
with  sugar  plums.  Ah,  how  many  such  pictures 
crowded  into  his  mind  in  the  silence  of  that  mid- 
night hour!  Nor  was  that  all.  Not  only  the 
tender  words  of  comfort  and  sympathy,  but 
strong,  solemn,  heart-searching  words  of  truth 
and  righteousness  that  he  had  heard  again  and 
again  from  those  eloquent  lips — how  they  came 
back  to  him  now — some  that  he  had  not  recalled 
for  years;  some  that  had  been  ever  in  his  heart 
until  this  last  year — this  year,  when  he  had 
ceased  to  believe  in  God. 

No  God?  That  great,  good  man  whose  pic- 
tured face  looked  down  at  him  had  been  a  living 
proof  of  God's  existence.  Bryan  knew  it  now, 
as  he  had  known  it  all  the  time,  even  when  in  his 
bitter  disappointment  he,  like  Peter,  had  denied 
his  Master.  Peter  had  been  forgiven  and  taken 
back  into  companionship  with  his  Lord.  Would 
he  be  taken  back?  Oh,  yes!  he  knew  that  the 
welcome  was  awaiting  him,  and  then  and  there 
Theodore  Bryan  reconsecrated  himself  and  his 
life  to  the  Master  whom,  for  a  long  year,  he  had 
forsworn  and  forsaken. 

Then  he  arose  and  went  out  into  the  night — 
went,  filled  with  a  sense  of  peace  and  happiness 
to  which  he  had  been  long  a  stranger.  It  was  as 
if  he  had  come  home  after  much  lonely  wander- 


RECALLED  65 

ing  in  other  lands  among  alien  peoples.  He 
walked  slowly  through  the  silent  streets,  deserted 
now  by  all  except  a  few  homeless  prowlers  of  the 
night  or  an  occasional  policeman.  He  knew  most 
of  the  policemen  in  this  part  of  the  city,  and  more 
than  one,  as  he  passed,  gave  him  a  word  of 
friendly  greeting.  He  did  not  know  where  he 
was  going,  only  that  he  was  willing  to  go  wher- 
ever he  might  be  led — willing  to  do  whatever 
was  to  be  done — for  Bennie. 

At  last  he  found  himself  down  among  the 
wharves;  and  then  suddenly  he  stood  still  and 
looked  about  him — his  eyes  full  of  memories. 
Surely  this  was  the  very  place  where  he  had 
brought  Nan  and  little  brother  the  first  time  he 
ever  met  them.  There  was  the  very  post  against 
which  Nan  had  leaned  with  her  baby  brother  in 
her  arms.  He  could  see  them  now  as  clearly  as 
he  had  seen  them  then — Nan  with  her  big  fright- 
ened eyes  that  watched  so  anxiously  the  thin 
white  face  of  the  baby  in  her  arms.  Could  he 
ever  forget  that  strange,  delightful  thrill  that  ran 
through  him  when  the  baby's  tiny  waxen  fingers 
clung  for  a  moment  about  the  coarse  dirty  finger 
that  he  had  poked  at  it?  From  that  moment  he 
had  lavished  on  the  baby  all  the  love  of  his  warm 
boyish  heart — love-starved  until  then.  What  had 
he  ever  had  to  love  before  ?  And  whom  had  he 
even  now  to  love  except  little  brother  and  Nan, 
who  had  been  like  an  elder  sister  to  him?  The 
glow  of  early  morning  was  dimming  the  street 
lights  now,  and  there  was  a  beginning  of  move- 


66  THEODORE  BRYAN 

ment  and  work  on  one  or  two  of  the  vessels  along 
the  wharf.  Bryan  leaned  against  the  post  watch- 
ing, and  waiting  for,  he  knew  not  what. 

Soon  sailors  were  at  work  on  several  of  the 
vessels,  especially  on  one  where  there  seemed  to 
be  considerable  stir  and  bustle.  It  must  be  about 
to  sail,  Bryan  concluded.  Then  his  eye  was 
caught  by  a  figure  coming  down  along  the 
wharves.  It  was  too  dark  yet  to  see  distinctly 
at  that  distance,  but  something  in  the  pose — the 
quick,  light  step — made  Bryan  lean  eagerly  for- 
ward, his  eyes  strained,  his  breath  coming 
quickly.  He  moved  around  in  the  shadow  of  the 
big  post  and  watched  the  tall,  slight  young  fellow 
as  he  came  steadily  on.  When  he  was  quite  near 
he  paused,  glancing  uncertainly  at  two  vessels 
lying  close  together.  Quietly,  then,  Bryan 
stepped  forward,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy's 
shoulder.  Instantly  the  lad  whirled  around,  in- 
stinctively flinging  off  the  hand;  but  as  he  saw 
who  stood  beside  him,  his  face  changed  and  he 
cried  out  joyfully: 

"  Theo !  Is  it  really  and  truly  you  ?  When 
did  you  come  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  two  stood,  their  hands  on 
each  other's  shoulders,  both  faces  full  of  a  glad- 
ness too  deep  for  words.  Then  suddenly  the 
radiance  died  out  of  Bennie  Hoyt's  eyes,  and  he 
dropped  his  hands. 

"Oh,  why  didn't  you  come  before,  Theo?" 
he  cried  out  roughly. 

The  question  brought  a  shadow  over  Bryan's 


RECALLED  67 

face  too.  He  answered  sadly,  "  Bennie,  I've  been 
wondering  if  I  can  ever  forgive  myself  for  not 
coming  before — for  ever  going  away  as  I  did. 
But  come  on — we  mustn't  stop  here.  I've  a  great 
deal  to  tell  you." 

"  And  I "  Bennie  began ;  then  he  gave  a 

troubled  glance  at  the  vessel  nearest  them. 
"  Theo,  I'm  going  away  on  that  ship.  She  sails 
this  morning  for  South  America." 

"You  mean  you  were  going,  Bennie.  You 
won't  go  now  ? "  Bryan's  voice  was  full  of 
pleading. 

A  sullen  gleam  darkened  the  boy's  frank  blue 
eyes;  his  young  mouth  hardened  into  obstinate 
lines.  "  Yes,  I've  signed.  I'm  going  to  work 
my  passage.  It's  the  best  thing,"  he  said  hastily. 
"  I've  made  a  fool  of  myself — worse  than  a  fool. 
Nan's  told  you,  of  course.  I'm  not  going  to  hang 
'round  here,  the  black  sheep  of  the  family.  I 
can  make  a  fresh  start  down  there — perhaps." 

"  No,  Bennie,  make  the  fresh  start  here,  with 
me.  We're  in  the  same  box,  you  and  I,"  Bryan 
said. 

The  lad  turned  on  his  friend's  face  a  keen, 
searching  glance. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  he  said.  "  You  look — as 
straight  as  ever." 

The  words  and  the  glance  sent  a  sharp  pang 
through  Bryan's  heart.  In  his  turn  he  looked 
long  into  the  boyish  face,  and  after  a  moment  the 
frank  blue  eyes  shifted  uneasily  and  a  hot  flush 
crept  slowly  up  to  the  lad's  fair  hair. 


68  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Then  Bryan  flung  his  arm  across  the  boy's 
shoulders  with  a  quick,  affectionate  motion. 
"  Bennie,"  he  said,  "  you  are  ashamed  of  the  rec- 
ord you've  made  this  past  year,  just  as  I'm 
ashamed  of  mine,  but  we're  both  young  and 
strong.  We  can  right  about  face  here  and  now, 
and  we're  going  to  do  it — both  of  us.  Bennie  " 
— something  in  Bryan's  voice  now  stirred  the 
depths  of  the  lad's  heart — "  Bennie,  it  was  on 
this  very  wharf  that  Nan  and  you  and  I  sat  that 
first  day — Nan  has  told  you  about  it  lots  of 
times.  You  know,  laddie,  how  you  crept  into 
my  heart  that  day,  and  from  that  hour  to  this 
you've  been  dearer  to  me  than  any  one  else  in  all 
the  world,  except  that  one  who  " — Bryan  rev- 
erently bared  his  head — "  meant  more  to  me  than 
all  other  men.  Have  you  thought,  Bennie,  that 
you  and  Nan  are  all  I  have  to  really  care  for? 
If  you  were  of  my  own  blood — thank  Heaven 
you're  not ! — you  could  not  be  any  dearer  to  me. 
And,  Bennie,  I  feel  that  I'm  to  blame  for  it  all— 
I  mean  all  that's  been  wrong  in  your  life  this  past 
year.  If  I  had  not  deserted,  you  never  would 
have  thought  of  doing  so.  So  you  see,  for  my 
sake  as  well  as  Nan's,  we've  got  to  make  good 
together — you  and  I." 

Bennie's  head  was  drooping.  He  leaned 
against  the  post,  idly  scraping  the  loose  dirt  on 
the  planks  with  his  foot. 

Bryan  went  on,  still  in  that  low,  earnest,  ap- 
pealing tone,  "  And  Nan — laddie,  you  know  how 
Nan  loves  you — better  if  possible  than  she  loves 


'I'll  get  you  free,  never  you  doubt  that" 


RECALLED  69 

those  two  babies  of  hers.  Bennie,  you  can't 
break  Nan's  heart." 

Bennie  swallowed  in  silence.  Finally  he  said, 
still  without  lifting  his  eyes,  "  I've  signed,  I  told 
you."  He  threw  out  his  hand  towards  the  ship. 

"  I'll  make  that  all  right,"  Bryan  cried  quickly. 

Suddenly  the  boy  flung  back  his  head. 
"  What's  the  use,  Theo  ?  "  he  demanded  moodily. 
"  I  can't  make  it  go  here,  now.  Nan's  told  you, 
I  suppose,  what  a  fizzle  I've  made  of  it  at  college. 
I'm  in  with  Follett's  crowd  and  it's  a  regular — 
devil- fish!"  His  face  darkened.  "You  can't 
get  clear  of  a  crowd  like  that,  once  you  get  in. 
You  cut  one  tentacle  only  to  find  half  a  dozen 
more  hauling  you  down  deeper  and  deeper." 

"  I'll  get  you  free,  never  you  doubt  that," 
Bryan  asserted  confidently.  "  Bennie,  it's  absurd 
for  a  boy  like  you  to  allow  those  fellows  to  run 
you  out  of  town.  You  are  man  enough  to  cut 
free  from  them — and  be  a  man;  and  remember, 
we  are  to  stand  by  each  other — you  and  I. 
We've  both  lost  a  year.  Well,  that's  bad,  but 
with  God's  help  we'll  make  it  up,  and " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  seeing  that  Bennie  was 
staring  at  him  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  demanded. 

"Why,  I— I "  Bennie  flushed  and  stam- 
mered, "  I  thought  you'd  chucked  all  that." 

It  was  Bryan's  turn  then  to  flush. 

"  Laddie,"  he  said,  his  voice  low  and  tense, 
"  you  remember  that  old  story  of  the  prodigal 
son?  Well,  I've  come  home,  sore  ashamed,  and 


70  THEODORE  BRYAN 

I  don't  think  the  Father  will  ever  let  me  wander 
off  again — nor  you  either — brother." 

A  glad  light  swept  the  gloom  from  the  boy's 
blue  eyes.  It  was  not  easy  to  speak  of  these 
things,  not  even  to  Theo,  but  he  began  hurriedly, 
as  if  afraid  that  his  courage  would  fail.  "  'Twas 
that  more  than  anything  else,  Theo,  that  was  at 
the  bottom  of  all  this  with  me.  I  felt — oh,  I  can't 
ever  tell  you  how  I  felt  when  they  said  you  didn't 
believe  in — in  God — don't  you  know — and  all 
that.  It  seemed  to  me  that,  with  you  gone  and 
God  gone,  Theo,  there  wasn't  anything  left  to— 
to  hang  to." 

He  looked  appealingly  into  Bryan's  eyes,  fear- 
ful that  he  would  not  understand,  but  his  face 
cleared  as  the  other  answered  quickly: 

"  I  know — I  understand  just  how  you  felt, 
but  it's  all  right,  Bennie — all  right  for  both  of 
us.  You'll  never  doubt  it  when  I  tell  you  the 
story  of  this  night — of  this  past  week.  Now," 
he  added,  with  a  quick  change  of  tone,  "  you  stay 
here  while  I  interview  the  captain.  That  looks 
like  the  captain  there  on  deck — and  then  we'll 
go  home  to  Nan.  And  then  you  and  I  will  begin 
all  over  again." 

Bennie  waited  anxiously  while  Bryan  had  a 
long  and  evidently  a  stormy  interview  with  the 
captain.  He  never  knew  just  how  it  was  ac- 
complished, but  he  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief 
and  satisfaction  when  his  friend  at  last  returned 
to  him  and  said: 

"  It's  all  right,  laddie.  Now  for  home  and  Nan." 


A  YEAR  OF  WAITING 

AFTER  Bennie's  return  the  days  were  all 
too  short  for  the  many  things  that  Bryan 
wanted  to  do.  Bennie  followed  him  about 
like  his  shadow,  a  new  and  pathetic  humility 
often  in  his  frank  blue  eyes,  but  that  too  seemed 
almost  like  a  reflection  from  Theo's.  Both  car- 
ried in  their  hearts  haunting  memories  of  days 
they  counted  lost,  and  both  were  eager  to  atone. 
But  they  had  to  learn,  each  for  himself,  that  we 
cannot  in  one  day  undo  the  evil  of  the  many 
days  that  are  past.  For  Bryan  there  were  bit- 
ter moments  when  he  sought  in  vain  for  the 
boys  who,  a  year  before,  had  been  often  at  the 
club,  reaching  out  towards  better  things.  Now 
they  had  drifted  away  or  slipped  back  into  the 
old  dark  channels  among  the  old  evil  associates. 
It  seemed  to  Bryan  unaccountable  that  the  club 
should  have  gone  to  pieces  as  it  had  in  so  little 
while.  But  as  Finney  explained,  "  The  heart 
seemed  all  taken  out  of  it  after  you  left,  Bryan, 
though  Mr.  Scott  and  Dick  and  I  did  our  best. 
But  you  have  a  way  with  the  boys  that  the  rest 
of  us  haven't.  They'll  do  anything  you  ask  'em 
to,  you  know  that." 

71 


72  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"If  that's  so,  the  more  shame  to  me  for  de- 
serting the  poor  chaps,"  Bryan  returned.  He 
stood  for  a  moment  in  thoughtful  silence,  then 
rousing  himself,  added,  "  Well,  it  won't  help 
matters  to  worry  over  it.  The  thing  now  is  to 
get  the  boys  back.  Let's  post  at  the  door  a 
notice  of  a  grand  rally  for  all  club  members, 
past  and  present — with  refreshments.  That  will 
bring  them,  I  think." 

"  You  sign  it,  Theo — that'll  do  more  good 
than  the  promise  of  ice  cream  to  bring  the 
boys  in." 

"  All  right.  You  do  your  best  with  the  letter- 
ing of  the  notice — use  plenty  of  red  ink — and 
tag  my  name  to  it  if  you  think  that  will  help 
any.  Better  put  it  on  Wednesday  evening.  I 
must  get  back  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"  Back  ?  "  echoed  Finney,  his  face  lengthen- 
ing. "  Why,  aren't  you  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"  I  am  that,  Jack ! "  was  Bryan's  quick  re- 
sponse. "  But  of  course  I  must  go  back  first 
and  settle  up  things  in  New  York.  I've  signed 
a  contract  for  another  year  there,  but  I'm  hoping 
that  Mr.  Marston  will  be  willing  to  let  me  off. 
If  he  doesn't — why,  then  you'll  have  to  run  the 
club  alone  for  a  while  longer,  but  I'll  find  a 
way  to  help,  even  if  it  is  at  long  range  for  a 
while.  So  don't  worry,  old  man."  His  hand 
fell  on  Finney's  shoulder  in  friendly  assurance. 

"  Well "  Finney  answered  doubtfully,  "  but 

1  guess  he'll  have  to  let  you  off,  Bryan.  We 
need  you  more'n  he  can." 


A  YEAR  OF  WAITING  73 

Bryan  did  not  trust  to  the  notice  at  the  door 
alone,  though  Jack,  who  was  skilful  with  pen 
and  brush,  outdid  himself  in  brilliant  red  let- 
tering; but  he  hunted  up  some  of  the  most 
trusty  of  the  old  club  workers  and  members, 
and  sent  them  out  to  round  up  all  the  wander- 
ers and  stragglers  they  could  find,  and  the  re- 
sult was  such  a  crowd  that  the  rooms  were  liter- 
ally packed.  And  Bryan,  his  heart  warming  at 
the  sight  of  so  many  familiar  faces  and  the 
ready  response  to  his  invitation — Bryan  gave 
them  a  short  earnest  talk  from  the  very  depths 
of  his  own  heart.  Every  word  rang  true  and 
the  boys  felt  it.  Their  hard,  rough  faces, 
softened  and  earnest  now,  were  lifted  to  his, 
and  with  a  great  gladness  he  realised  that  he 
had  not  lost  his  hold  on  his  boys;  and  in  his 
own  soul  he  vowed  that  never  again  would  he 
fail  them. 

"  Say,  Bryan,  that  was  a  mistake  about  your 
voice,  wasn't  it?  It's  jest  as  strong  as  ever," 
Finney  said  to  him  later  in  the  evening. 

Bryan  turned  to  him  with  a  start.  "  I  forgot 
all  about  it,"  he  said.  Then  he  added,  "  It's  all 
right  if  I  use  it  occasionally,  but  it  wouldn't  be 
if  I  should  speak  often.  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  that 
I  could  talk  to  the  boys  to-night.  Finney,  it's 
a  grand  thing  to  be  able  to  give  them  a  lift. 
I  know  how  it  is — many  of  them  would  never 
have  any  chance  if  we  didn't  help  them." 

Finney  nodded,  his  eyes  full  of  deep  feeling. 
"  Don't  I  know  ?  "  he  returned.  "  I  know  even 


74  THEODORE  BRYAN 

better  than  you  do,  Bryan.  I  ain't  likely  ever 
to  forget  what  you  did  for  me  in  the  old  days. 
Think  what  I'd  be  now  but  for  you !  " 

Bryan  held  out  his  hand,  and  as  Finney  grasped 
it,  said  in  a  low  tone,  "  Think  what  I'd  be  now, 
Finney,  but  for  one  good  man.  I've  only  tried 
in  my  poor  way  to  '  pass  on '  the  great  good 
that  came  to  me  through  him." 

The  few  days  that  followed  were  filled  to 
overflowing  for  Bryan.  Besides  the  club  boys, 
there  were  many  of  his  former  charges  to  be 
looked  up,  and  there  were  hours  spent  with 
Jack  Finney  and  Dick  Hunt  in  planning  for 
the  club  boys,  and  for  other  things  that  he 
had  in  mind  to  undertake. 

The  last  day  Bennie  hung  about  him  with  such 
a  disconsolate  face  that  Bryan  finally  said  to 
him,  "  It's  only  for  a  little  while  that  I'm  go- 
ing, laddie,  and  you'll  be  busy  making  a  record 
at  dear  old  Harvard — making  Nan  proud  as  a 
peacock  of  her  little-big  brother,  and  after 
that " 

"  Ah,"  put  in  the  boy,  his  blue  eyes  glowing, 
"  after  that,  Theo,  we'll  do  things— you  and  I." 

As  Bryan  looked  into  the  eager,  intense  young 
face,  his  heart  was  wrung  with  a  swift  pang 
of  foreboding.  What  would  life  mean  to  a 
spirit  like  this,  fine,  true,  strong  in  certain  ways, 
but  so  intense  and  sensitive,  and  keyed  to  so 
high  a  pitch?  He  felt  a  great  longing  to  shel- 
ter the  boy  from  the  pain  and  sorrow  of  the 
world — to  guard  him  from  sin  and  evil.  Ben- 


A  YEAR  OF  WAITING  75 

nie's  blue  eyes  questioned  him,  and  he  answered 
the  silent  inquiry. 

"  I  was  wondering — thinking  of  the  years  to 
come,  years  that  you  and  I  are  going  to  spend 
'  lending  a  hand.'  Think,  Bennie  boy,  of  all 
the  forlorn  little  souls,  straying  to-day  in  courts 
and  alleys,  that  we  are  going  to  bring  into  our 
'  home '  and  our  club,  and  turn  into  good,  hon- 
est men — into  true  splendid  American  men ! 
Isn't  that  something  worth  living  for,  laddie  ?  " 

"  It's  something  to — live  up  to,  Theo,"  the 
boy  cried  with  trembling  lips,  "  and  I'm  going  to 
try — oh,  I'm  going  to  try  hard  this  next  year, 
Theo!" 

"  And  I,  little  brother,"  and  the  two  hands 
met  in  a  grip  that  hurt. 

That  was  their  real  good-bye.  When,  the  next 
day,  Nan  and  her  husband  and  Bennie  went  to 
the  great,  noisy  station  to  see  Bryan  off,  they 
were  all  rather  silent.  Their  hearts  were  too 
full  for  commonplace  speech  and  the  deeper 
words  had  been  spoken  before. 

Now  as  the  train  began  to  move,  he  swung 
himself  on  to  the  step  with  the  warm  good-byes 
ringing  in  his  ears.  But  these  were  not  quite 
the  last  farewells  either,  for  as  he  settled  back 
in  his  seat  he  saw  a  group  of  boys  perched  on 
a  bank  beside  the  track,  and  as  he  leaned  to- 
wards the  window  a  shout  broke  from  a  score 
of  rough  boyish  voices. 

"What's  the  matter  with  Bryan?  He's  all 
right !  "  they  yelled  in  chorus,  the  while  they 


76  THEODORE  BRYAN 

frantically  waved  their  old  straw  hats  and  rag- 
ged caps.  There  was  barely  time  for  Bryan  to 
fling  up  the  window  and  wave  his  hand  in  re- 
sponse, and  they  were  gone ;  but  the  hearty  boy- 
ish tribute  sent  him  on  his  way  with  wet  eyes 
and  a  full  heart.  How  well  he  remembered 
when  he  had  been  just  such  a  boy  as  these,  and  he 
could  almost  see  himself — homely,  little,  freckled 
Tode  Bryan — waving  his  cap  from  the  top  of  a 
high  fence  to  Nan  and  little  brother,  as  the 
train  swept  by,  carrying  them  far  away,  and 
leaving  him  lonely  and  desolate  in  the  great  city. 

In  Boston  it  had  seemed  to  Bryan  not  a 
difficult  thing  for  him  to  present  the  matter  in 
such  a  light  that  Mr.  Marston  would  be  willing 
to  release  him,  in  spite  of  the  signed  contract; 
but  the  nearer  he  came  to  New  York  the  more 
his  doubts  increased,  and  he  was  by  no  means 
confident  of  success  when  he  went  to  the  office 
the  morning  after  his  return.  Mr.  Marston  gave 
him  a  cordial  welcome,  but  as  he  listened  to  what 
Bryan  had  to  say,  his  genial  smile  vanished,  and 
his  face  hardened  into  lines  of  determination. 
Bryan  told  his  story  frankly,  as  frankly  that  is 
as  he  could  to  one  who,  he  felt,  was  not  in 
sympathy  with  the  motives  that  influenced  him. 
When  he  stopped,  chilled  by  the  atmosphere  of 
unresponsive  coldness,  Mr.  Marston  said  quietly : 

"You  signed  the  two-year  contract  of  your 
own  free  will,  did  you  not?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  Very  well  then,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said. 


A  YEAR  OF  WAITING  77 

I  cannot  release  you  until  the  end  of  the  two 
years,  and  let  me  tell  you,  Bryan,  I  consider  that 
I  should  be  doing  you  anything  but  a  kindness 
if  I  should.  In  a  year  from  now  you  will  thank 
me  for  holding  you  to  our  agreement — at  least, 
I  shall  be  very  much  surprised  if  you  do  not." 

Bryan  rose.  "  I  am  sorry,  Mr.  Marston,"  he 
said,  "  but  of  course  you  are  quite  within  your 
rights,  and  I  have  no  reason — at  least,  no  right, 
to  complain.  I  hoped  I  could  make  you  feel 
as  I  do,  that  there  are  considerations  of  more 
real  importance  than  anything  of  a  business 
nature.  But  since  you  claim  it,  my  time  be- 
longs to  you  for  another  year,  and  I  shall  do 
my  best  to  serve  you  well.  Have  you  any  or- 
ders or  instructions  for  me,  sir?" 

"  Not  now.  I'll  see  what  there  is  and  send 
for  you  later,"  was  the  reply;  and  when  Bryan 
had  left  the  office,  Mr.  Marston  sat  for  a  long 
time  with  his  head  on  his  hand.  He  could  not 
understand  how  a  young  man  so  eminently  fitted 
for  a  successful  business  career  as  Bryan  un- 
questionably was  could  think  for  a  moment  of 
throwing  up  such  an  opportunity  as  he  had  now 
before  him.  It  was  simply  incomprehensible. 

But  Ted,  when  he  heard  of  it,  rushed  straight- 
way to  his  friend's  room,  and  seizing  both  his 
hands,  shook  them  till  Bryan  laughingly  begged 
for  mercy. 

"  Because,  you  see,  I  may  want  to  use  my 
arms  again  some  day,"  he  said,  pushing  Teddy 
into  a  chair.  "  And  now  if  you  will  kindly 


78  THEODORE  BRYAN 

inform  me  what  all  this  demonstration  is 
about ?" 

Then  he  discovered  that  Ted's  eyes  were  grave 
and  earnest,  and  so  was  his  voice  as  he  said 
slowly,  "  Bryan,  it's  because  I'm  so  glad  that 
you've  found  yourself  once  more.  Father's 
been  telling  me  how  you  wanted  to  fling  up 
your  chance  here  and  go  back  to  your  boys  in 
Boston.  Jove!  Old  fellow,"  he  eyed  the  other 
curiously,  searchingly,  "  do  you  actually  realise 
what  it  is  that  you  were  coolly  proposing  to 
give  up?  Why,  father  says  you've  the  best 
head  for  business  of  any  man  on  his  force, 
though  of  course  there  are  others  worth  more 
now  because  of  their  longer  experience.  He 
guarantees  that  you'll  be  a  rich  man  in  five  years 
if  you  stay  on,  a  rich  man,  Bryan !  And  you're 
willing  to  throw  it  all  up !  " 

"  Money  isn't  the  most  important  thing  there 
is  in  life,  Marston.  You  know  that  as  well  as 
I  do." 

"Yes,  but  I  know  that  money  is  a  mighty 
good  thing  to  have,  all  the  same,  and  don't  you 
forget  that!  You  can't  carry  out  your  charity 
schemes  without  money,  loads  of  it.  Why  not 
then  stay  on  here  and  make  your  pile  and,  after 
it  is  made,  then  go  into  your  other  work — eh  ?  " 

"  I  might  not  have  the  chance  then — or  the 
inclination,"  Bryan  replied  gravely.  "  Men  are 
more  in  demand  than  money  for  my  work.  The 
money  will  come  all  right  when  it  is  needed — 
it  always  does." 


A  YEAR  OF  WAITING  79 

"  Well,"  Marston  responded,  "  you  know,  old 
friend,  that  I  feel  you've  done  the  right  thing 
even  though  I  see  so  clearly  father's  point  of 
view.  Having  '  found  yourself,'  I  understand 
that  you  couldn't  do  otherwise.  And  now,  what 
do  you  say  to  taking  me  as  an  assistant  when 
your  year  here  is  up  ?  " 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  Ted  ?  " 

"  I  wonder,"  replied  Ted,  dropping  into  a 
chair.  "  Honest  now,  Bryan,  I'm  not  quite  sure 
myself.  Shouldn't  be  surprised,  though,  if  I 
should  decide  to  give  it  a  try  for  a  year  or  so, 
if  you'll  take  me  in  at  your  settlement,  or  what- 
ever you  call  the  place.  It  is  some  sort  of 
settlement  work  that  you  are  planning,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Ultimately,  yes." 

"  But  not  at  first  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do 
first,  then  ?  " 

"  To  build  up  the  club  again — it  has  run 
down  badly  this  past  year.  Then  perhaps  I 
may  go  into  some  settlement  already  established, 
for  a  while.  Meantime,  I've  an  idea  in  my  head 
that  I  think  I  can  work  out  this  year  in  New 
York." 

"What's  that?" 

Bryan  explained  slowly,  "  I've  always  had  a 
deal  of  faith  in  manual  labour — handicrafts  and 
that  sort  of  thing,  you  know — and  it  has  oc- 
curred to  me  that  it  would  not  be  a  bad  idea 
to  establish  a  shop  of  some  sort  down  near  a 
settlement  house,  or  near  where  I  mean  to  have 
one  as  soon  as  the  way  opens.  I  like  to  work 


80  THEODORE  BRYAN 

with  tools  pretty  well  myself,  and  I'm  thinking 
of  taking  a  regular  course  here  evenings;  then 
you  see  I  can  teach  the  boys,  and  perhaps  at 
the  same  time  build  up  a  business  that  will, 
after  a  while,  bring  in  a  steady  income  for  the 
other  part  of  my  work." 

"  Mission  furniture,  iron  work,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing?"  Ted  enquired  with  interest. 

"  Yes,  something  like  that,  but  mind  you,  it 
isn't  any  big  manual  training  school  I'm  plan- 
ning— nothing  of  that  sort.  I  don't  know  as  I  can 
make  my  idea  clear  to  you,  but  a  shop  where  good 
honest  furniture  is  made  and  sold  at  a  fair  price 
— that's  what  I  have  in  mind,  and  me  for  the 
master  workman.  You  see  it's  just  a  sort  of — 
carpenter,  I'm  planning  to  be,  that's  all." 

Teddy  was  not  dull.  The  almost  imperceptible 
pause  by  which  Bryan  separated  that  one  word 
"  carpenter  "  from  the  rest  was  not  lost  on  him ; 
but  he  said  only,  "  I  see."  Then  after  a  pause 
he  started  up  briskly.  "  Well,  old  man,  you're 
a  trump,  and  as  I've  observed  before,  I'm  no  end 
glad  that  you've  found  yourself  again,  and,"  he 
had  the  door  open  now,  but  he  waited  to  add, 
"  and  maybe  I  may  have  a  finger  in  that  pie  too, 
when  it's  baked."  Then  he  vanished,  leaving 
Bryan  wondering  how  much  he  really  did  mean. 


VI 

GREEN  TREE  HOUSE 

ON  a  dreary,  narrow  street  lined  on  either 
side  with  long  rows  of  cheap  houses,  all 
dingy  and  dirty  and  all  swarming  with 
dirty,  ragged  children,  there  stood  an  old  frame 
house  that  had  evidently  been  built  long  before 
the  dismal  brick  rows  that  now  surrounded  it. 
A  square  house  it  was  with  high  steps  going 
up  sidewise  to  a  door  in  the  centre,  and  under 
these  two  or  three  shallow  steps  leading  down 
to  the  lower  story,  which  was  really  a  high 
basement.  Above  the  basement  the  house  had 
two  stories  and  an  attic  with  dormer  windows. 
A  wide  hall  divided  the  first  floor,  running  from 
front  to  back,  where  it  opened  onto  a  broad 
porch  overlooking  a  yard  in  which  some  ancient 
lilac  bushes  and  a  sturdy  old  elm  were  all  that 
remained  of  the  garden  that  had  once  been 
there.  The  place  was  part  of  an  estate  that 
had  long  been  held  in  trust  for  heirs  who  could 
not  be  located. 

For  years  the  old  house  had  stood  empty  and 
forlorn,  its  yard  a  dumping-ground  for  the  rub- 
bish and  ashes  of  its  neighbours,  while  the  white 
paint  faded  and  peeled  from  its  clapboards  and 
81 


82  THEODORE  BRYAN 

doors,  the  shingles  curled  up  and  blew  off  its 
roof,  the  bricks  tumbled  from  its  chimneys,  and 
its  once  green  blinds  were  carried  off  for  kindling 
wood.  Because  of  the  great  elm  that  spread  its 
green  branches  over  the  roof  through  all  the 
spring  and  summer  days,  the  house  was  known  in 
the  neighbourhood  as  the  Green  Tree  House. 

But  there  came  a  day  when  footsteps  and 
voices  sounded  once  more  in  the  long-silent 
rooms  of  the  old  house;  and  then  a  placard, 
"  For  Sale,"  appeared  in  one  of  the  windows. 
It  did  not  remain  there  long,  however,  for  the 
man  who  put  it  up  had  barely  gotten  out  of 
sight  before  a  score  of  ragged  urchins,  who  had 
been  hanging  around  the  steps  to  see  what  was 
going  to  be  done,  were  using  it  for  a  target. 
They  were,  most  of  them,  expert  stone-throwers. 
In  fifteen  minutes  there  was  not  a  whole  pane 
of  glass  left  in  the  window,  and  the  card  had 
disappeared.  After  that  the  boys  took  to  their 
heels,  one  of  their  number  having  announced 
the  approach  of  a  "  cop." 

But  a  few  days  later  the  boys  had  something 
else  to  investigate  about  the  old  house,  for  work- 
men came  and  began  to  do  all  sorts  of  things 
to  it.  They  rebuilt  the  chimney-tops,  reshingled 
the  roof,  replaced  missing  panes  of  glass  and 
missing  blinds,  put  in  modern  plumbing  and 
bathrooms,  and  finally  painted  the  old  walls  out- 
side and  the  woodwork  inside,  from  attic  to — 
not  to  basement:  the  basement  was  left  as  it 
was  inside — but  from  attic  to  first  floor  inclusive. 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  83 

And  then  a  blue-coated  officer  with  a  rich  Irish 
brogue  gave  the  neighbourhood  youngsters  to 
understand  that  further  target-practice  on  the 
windows  would  be  costly  and  dangerous  for 
them. 

So,  for  a  few  days,  the  old  house  stood  in  the 
glory  of  its  new  paint,  the  wonder  and  admira- 
tion of  the  neighbourhood  until,  one  bright  sum- 
mer morning,  an  agent  appeared  with  two  young 
men,  who  seemed  to  be  especially  interested  in 
the  basement.  Rather  an  unusual  basement  it 
was,  as  might  be  expected  in  such  a  house.  It 
had  two  large  square  rooms  in  front,  and  behind 
these  was  a  kitchen,  and  three  or  four  smaller 
rooms,  one  of  them  half  full  of  rubbish.  Dark 
as  a  pocket  they  were  too,  owing  to  the  fact  that 
their  windows  were  not  only  securely  grated, 
but  boarded  up  inside  the  gratings,  so  that 
neither  prowling  boys  nor  prowling  cats  could 
gain  access. 

The  two  young  men  were  pleased  with  the 
rooms.  They  did  not  go  upstairs.  The  agent 
informed  them  that  the  basement  only  was  for 
rent.  Who  was  to  occupy  the  rest  of  the  house  ? 
That  he  was  not  at  liberty  to  say.  Well,  they 
liked  the  basement.  They  would  pay  a  month's 
rent  in  advance,  and  move  in  in  a  day  or  two. 

But  no,  the  agent  informed  them  that  the 
matter  could  not  be  settled  thus  off  hand.  They 
— or  the  one  of  them  who  would  be  responsible 
for  the  rent — the  younger  of  the  two  nodded 
towards  his  companion  as  indicating  that  he  was 


84  THEODORE  BRYAN 

the  responsible  one — well  then,  he  would  have 
to  call  at  the  office  and  answer  certain  ques- 
tions before  it  could  be  decided  whether  or  not 
the  basement  would  be  rented  to  him. 

"  All  right,  we'll  go  along  with  you  and  settle 
it  now,"  said  the  older  of  the  two  promptly. 

But  it  appeared  that  this  could  not  be,  either. 
The  agent,  somewhat  uncertain  and  confused  ap- 
parently, was  sure  of  one  thing — that  the  matter 
could  not  possibly  be  settled  that  day.  The  next 
morning  perhaps — indeed  probably — but  not  that 
day,  under  any  circumstances. 

Very  well  then,  they  would  be  at  the  office  the 
next  morning.  So  they  stepped  outside,  the 
agent  locked  up  the  basement  and  departed, 
leaving  the  two  would-be  tenants  looking  in- 
quiringly into  each  other's  faces,  on  the  door- 
steps. ^ 

"  What  do  you  think  it  means  ?  Why  on  earth 
wouldn't  he  let  you  hire  the  place  to-day  ?  "  the 
younger  one  queried. 

"  I  can't  imagine  why ;  nor  why  he  should  act 
confused  as  he  certainly  did,"  the  other  replied. 
"If  the  owner  is  willing  to  have  any  sort  of  a 
shop  here,  he  can't  object  to  ours,  I  should 
think." 

"Or  to  us,"  added  the  other  with  a  laugh. 
"  I'm  sure  we're  exemplary  citizens  and  honest 
workingmen." 

The  other  smiled  into  the  laughing  face  of 
his  friend.  "You  a  workingman,  Ted! "  he  re- 
torted. "  You  look  it.  don't  you  ?  " 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  85 

Ted  Marston  cast  a  doubtful  glance  down  at 
his  tailored  garments.  "  Oh,  come  now,  Bryan," 
he  returned,  "  I  don't  see  why  these  togs  won't 
pass  muster.  They're  ancient  enough,  Heaven 
knows.  Why,  I've  had  'em  over  a  year." 

"  All  the  same  you'll  find  that  they're  a  cut 
above  what  our  neighbours  here  are  wearing. 
For  instance,  that  specimen  across  the  way." 

"  Oh,  Lord !  "  groaned  Teddy.  "  Bryan,  you 
don't  expect  me  to  wear  that  sort  of  thing! 
Come  now,  that's  asking  a  little  too  much." 

"  But  I'm  not  asking  it.  Wear  what  you  like, 
of  course,  only  don't  be  surprised  if  the  boys 
are  stand-offish." 

"Oh,  they'll  get  over  my  clothes,  I  reckon," 
Marston  returned  easily.  "  But  really,  Bryan, 
I  think  there's  something  mighty  queer  about 
this  business.  That  agent  sure  was  keeping 
something  back.  Maybe  there  is  something  ob- 
jectionable about  the  place.  There  must  be,  I 
think,  else  it  would  surely  have  been  snapped  up 
by  somebody  before  this.  No  other  we've  looked 
at  compares  with  it." 

"  I've  been  wondering  about  that  myself," 
Bryan  responded.  "  I'll  send  some  of  the  club 
boys  down  to-night — down  here,  I  mean.  They'll 
find  out  all  about  the  place — trust  them  for  that !  " 

The  boys  were  sent  down,  and  the  report  that 
they  brought  back  satisfied  Bryan,  but  left  him 
yet  more  perplexed  over  the  agent's  refusal  to 
rent  the  place  that  day. 

So,  promptly  the  next  morning  the  two  young 


86  THEODORE  BRYAN 

men  presented  themselves  at  his  office,  and  were 
politely  requested  to  await  the  coming  of  the 
head  of  the  firm,  who  wished  to  see  them.  They 
had  waited  with  rapidly  diminishing  patience 
for  upwards  of  an  hour,  when  an  elderly  lady 
entered  the  office.  The  agent  greeted  her  with 
an  air  of  respect,  and  Bryan  noticed  that  he  called 
her  Mrs.  Knowles.  As  soon  as  she  was  seated, 
the  agent  disappeared  through  a  side  door,  and 
a  moment  later  the  head  of  the  firm  came  in 
through  the  same  door.  He  bowed  to  the  lady, 
and  then  at  once  turned  to  Bryan  and  began 
to  question  him.  He  asked  a  great  many  ques- 
tions in  a  very  deliberate  fashion,  and  presently, 
as  if  tired  of  waiting,  the  elderly  lady  rose  to 
go  away.  The  agent  started  up  hastily  and  fol- 
lowed her  to  the  door,  where  a  few  words  passed 
between  them  in  a  low  tone.  Then  he  returned 
and  wrote  a  line  on  a  slip  of  paper,  which  he 
presently  handed  to  his  chief,  who  read  it  in  an 
absent-minded  fashion  and  then,  tossing  it  into 
a  waste  basket,  turned  abruptly  to  Bryan. 

"  I  think  I  understand  now  what  you  pro- 
pose to  do  with  this  handicraft  shop  of  yours. 
Your  references  are  all  right,  and  you  can  have 
the  rooms  at  the  price  named.  Any  changes,  in 
reason,  or  really  necessary  repairs,  will  be  made 
for  you  by  the  owner." 

Five  minutes  later  the  papers  were  signed,  and 
Bryan  had  the  keys  in  his  pocket. 

"  Now  we're  all  right,"  he  exulted  when,  with 
Teddy  keeping  step  beside  him,  he  was  walking 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  87 

briskly  back  to  the  new  quarters.  "  And  I  tell 
you,  Mr.  Teddy  Marston,  we  are  in  luck  to  get 
the  place  at  that  figure.  We  haven't  seen  any- 
thing else  half  so  good  for  the  price,  and  we 
certainly  have  scoured  the  neighbourhood." 

"  But  consider  the  neighbourhood,"  Teddy  re- 
minded him.  "  It  wouldn't  be  an  easy  thing 
to  get  a  good  tenant  to  locate  there.  What  I'd 
like  to  know,  is — what  kind  of  neighbours  we're 
going  to  have  over  our  heads." 

"  If  those  fellows  at  the  office  are  as  particular 
with  other  applicants  as  they  were  with  us,  the 
neighbours  are  likely  to  be  all  right,"  Bryan  re- 
turned unconcernedly.  "  And  anyhow,  we 
needn't  have  anything  to  do  with  them,  if  they 
aren't."  He  stopped  at  a  cross  street,  adding, 
"  I'm  going  to  Nan's  to  get  some  of  my  old 
clothes.  I  think  I'll  clear  out  that  rubbish  from 
the  side  room  myself.  I'll  bring  Bennie  back 
with  me  to  help,  if  he's  at  home." 

"What's  the  matter  with  me  for  a  helper?" 
Teddy  demanded. 

Bryan's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  flashed  a  glance 
over  his  friend's  figure.  "  Shall  I  bring  along 
a  pair  of  overalls  for  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  That's  right — do,"  was  the  unexpected  reply. 
"  Who  knows  what  rare  antiques  may  be  buried 
in  those  dark  corners  ?  I  mean  to  have  a  share, 
mind  that,  Bryan,  and  I'll  be  on  hand  to  make 
sure  I  get  'em." 

"  Well,  go  ahead  then  and  unearth  your  treas- 
ures," laughed  Bryan,  pulling  the  keys  from  his 


88  THEODORE  BRYAN 

pocket  and  handing  them  to  his  friend.  "  I'll 
be  back  before  you  have  time  to  secrete  your 
spoil." 

When  he  came  back  to  the  old  house  he  found 
Teddy  sitting  on  the  steps,  with  a  crowd  of 
deeply  interested  and  curious  youngsters  of  as- 
sorted sizes  grouped  about  him — but  not  too 
close.  He  looked  up  with  a  whimsical  smile  as 
Bryan  appeared. 

"  Our  first  callers,"  he  said,  with  a  glance  at 
the  motley  gathering;  then  to  the  children,  who 
were  pressing  eagerly  forward — "  No,  no,  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  we're  not  ready  yet  for  callers, 
inside — some  other  day.  Shoo  now ! "  He 
waved  them  off  as  he  rose,  and  they  reluctantly 
withdrew  a  few  steps;  but  the  instant  the  two 
young  men  had  gone  in  and  shut  the  door  be- 
hind them,  the  children  swarmed  about  the  win- 
dows and  flattened  their  noses — as  many  as 
could — against  the  glass,  as  they  peered  curi- 
ously in. 

"  Never  mind,  let  'em  peek  if  they  want  to," 
Bryan  said.  "  There  isn't  much  for  them  to  see, 
and  they  couldn't  see  through  those  dirty  win- 
dows if  there  was." 

Teddy  nodded;  then  eyeing  a  basket  that 
Bryan  had  set  down,  he  enquired,  "  Lunch  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  Bryan  replied,  immediately  snatching 
up  the  basket  again  and  putting  it  in  a  closet, 
which  he  locked,  "  but  no  '  pickings  '  yet  awhile, 
Mr.  Marston.  You've  got  to  earn  that  lunch  by 
'  the  sweat  of  your  brow,'  remember." 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  89 

"  What  must  be  must  be,"  Teddy  returned  re- 
signedly. "  And  the  overalls  ?  " 

Bryan  untied  a  bundle  he  had  brought,  and 
flung  a  pair  of  overalls  towards  him ;  then  stood 
back  and  shouted  at  the  figure  Ted  made  with 
them  on. 

"  You  shouldn't,  Bryan — you  might  hurt  my 
feelings,  don't  you  know !  "  Teddy  remonstrated, 
as  he  fumbled  with  the  straps.  "  Now  then,  up 
and  at  it !  " 

For  an  hour  the  two  worked  with  a  will,  but 
the  only  '  rare  antiques '  they  unearthed  were 
some  rusty  iron  pots,  and  some  cracked  and 
broken  crockery.  All  the  rest  was  odds  and  ends 
of  lumber,  loose  bricks,  rusty  stovepipes,  and  the 
like  rubbish.  When  all  this  was  removed  there 
was  disclosed  an  old  chimney  with  a  brick 
mantelpiece. 

"If  there  was  only  a  fireplace  under  that,  it 
would  be  jolly,"  Ted  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  we'd  make  a  rousing  fire  in  it  right 
now !  "  mocked  Bryan,  mopping  his  hot  forehead. 

Ted  made  no  reply,  but  pulling  out  his  knife, 
he  began  picking  away  at  the  brickwork  under 
the  mantelpiece.  Presently  he  gave  a  whoop 
and  shouted  for  Bryan,  who  was  busy  in  an- 
other room. 

"  Found  an  '  antique  '  ?  "  Bryan  enquired,  pre- 
senting a  face  adorned  with  a  big  black  smooch. 

"I  have  that!"  was  the  emphatic  response. 
"  Just  fling  your  eye  in  there  and  see  if  I 
haven't." 


90  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  In  there  "  was  an  opening  in  the  brickwork. 
Ted  struck  a  match  and  held  it  close  to  the 
opening,  and  Bryan  could  see  that  there  was  a 
big  old-fashioned  fireplace  that  had  evidently 
been  roughly  and  carelessly  bricked  up  long 
before. 

"  That's  jolly,  Ted !  "  he  cried,  his  eyes  shining 
with  satisfaction.  "  It  will  mean  a  lot  to  have 
an  open  fire  here  winter  evenings.  Let's  pull 
all  the  bricks  down  and  see  what  it  looks  like," 
he  added  with  boyish  impatience. 

The  bricks  removed,  it  looked  like  a  gen- 
erous old-fashioned  fireplace  with  an  ancient 
crane  black  with  rust  and  soot,  but  still  strong 
and  fit  to  hold  a  kettle. 

"  Tell  me  that  there  are  no  treasures  here ! " 
exulted  Ted.  "  Now  remember,  Mr.  Bryan — 
this  is  my  find,  and  I  claim  the  right  to  use  it 
when  I  choose.  Also  to  supply  a  cord  or  two 
of  hard  wood  to  burn  in  it.  Granted?  " 

"  Granted,"  Bryan  assented.  "  You  shall  make 
a  roaring  fire  here  this  very  hour  if  you  choose. 
Here's  stuff  enough  to  burn." 

But  even  Ted's  enthusiasm  was  not  equal  to 
a  roaring  wood  fire  in  July.  He  could  wait,  he 
said.  That  fireplace  would  keep. 

A  pounding  on  the  door  announced  a  new  ar- 
rival, and  Ted  hastened  to  admit  Bennie.  He 
had  already  made  friends  with  Nan  and  her 
family,  and  now  he  pulled  the  boy  in,  slamming 
the  door  hastily  behind  him  to  shut  out  the  chil- 
dren, who  still  hung  about  the  steps  and  windows. 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  91 

Bennie  was  loaded  with  pails  and  brushes  and 
a  big  bag  of  lime. 

"  I'm  going  to  help  Theo  whitewash  the 
walls,"  he  explained,  in  response  to  Ted's 
questions. 

"  But  why  do  that  yourself?"  Ted  demanded, 
turning  to  Bryan.  "  It  must  be  a  nasty,  messy 
job;  we'd  much  better  hire  a  man.  Besides, 
didn't  the  agent  say  the  owner  would  do  what- 
ever was  needed  ?  " 

Bryan,  busily  sweeping  dirt  and  cobwebs  from 
the  walls  and  ceiling,  answered  quietly,  "  Yes, 
but  I'm  going  to  do  it  myself  and  let  him  pay 
me,  instead  of  somebody  else,  for  the  job." 

Teddy  burst  out  laughing. 

"  Well,"  questioned  Bryan,  "  what  is  there  so 
funny  about  that  ?  " 

"  It  is  funny,"  Teddy  answered,  "  to  think 
how  my  father  would  look  if  he  could  see  you 
doing  it.  He'd  say  you  were  a  fool  to  do  work 
that  you  could  hire  done  for  a  few  dollars — 
when  you  might  be  earning  twenty  times  as  much 
in  the  time."  He  was  laughing  when  he  began, 
but  he  was  quite  grave  as  he  concluded.  So 
was  Bryan  as  he  answered : 

"  Yes,  from  his  point  of  view  it  would  be 
foolish,  but  you  see,  Ted,  money-making  is  his 
business.  It  isn't  mine." 

"  Yes,  I  understand  that,"  Teddy  replied, 
"  but  he  can't.  You  see  he  has  never  before 
run  across  a  fellow  who  would  turn  down  such 
an  offer  as  he  made  you." 


92  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  It  did  tempt  me,  Ted — I  acknowledge  it," 
Bryan  said  slowly.  "  You  see  I  like  few  things 
better  than  getting  right  into  the  thick  of  a  big 
business.  The  liking  for  it  grew  on  me  so  this 
past  year  that  it  was  no  easy  thing  to  give  it 
all  up.  To  manage  a  great  business  like  your 
father's — to  feel  that  you  can  do  it — that  you 
have  the  ability;  that  you  can  reach  out  and 
control  other  men  and  interests,  and  make  lots 
of  money  at  the  same  time,  and  make  it  hon- 
estly— ah ! "  He  caught  his  breath  quickly. 
"  I  never  wonder  now  that  so  many  men  give 
themselves  up  to  it,  heart  and  soul.  It  gets  hold 
of  them,  and  they  can't  give  it  up.  It  would 
have  been  that  way  with  me  if  I  had  staid  with 
your  father." 

Ted  was  watching  him  curiously,  and  Bennie, 
grave  and  silent,  watched  and  listened  too. 

"If  you  feel  that  way  about  it,  maybe  you'll 
get  back  into  it  after  a  while,"  Teddy  suggested, 
but  Bryan  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said  with  quick  decision,  "  no.  It 
may  be  all  right  for  some  men;  it  isn't  for  me. 
I  can't  afford  to  spend  my  life  in  money-getting 
when  there  are  so  many  finer  things  to  do."  He 
turned  to  the  boy  at  his  side.  "  Bennie  and  I 
are  going  into  a  partnership  of  another  sort — 
eh,  laddie?"  he  added,  dropping  his  hand  af- 
fectionately on  the  boy's  shoulder;  then  sud- 
denly flinging  grave  thoughts  aside,  he  brought 
out  the  lunch  basket,  and  the  three  made  a 
merry  meal  together. 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  93 

A  week  later,  except  for  the  shining  white- 
ness of  the  walls,  the  shop  looked  as  if  work 
might  have  been  going  on  there  for  years.  In 
one  of  the  large  front  rooms  Bryan  was  at  work 
on  a  table,  a  solid,  substantial  piece  of  furniture, 
though  made  of  the  cheapest  wood  that  could  be 
used  to  advantage.  Several  other  pieces,  some 
in  process  of  making,  a  few  ready  for  use, 
stood  about,  and  the  place  was  fragrant  with  the 
clean,  slightly  spicy  odour  of  the  shavings  that 
littered  the  floor.  From  the  other  front  room 
sounded  a  cheery  whistle,  and  presently  Ted 
came  across  the  hall  with  a  piece  of  Florentine 
ironwork  in  his  hand. 

"  Rather  neat,  isn't  it  ?  "  he  said  lightly,  as  he 
held  it  up  for  inspection. 

"  Fine !  "  Bryan  declared.  "  We  shall  soon 
have  boys  clamouring  to  learn  that  sort  of  thing." 

Teddy  raised  his  brows.  "  To  tell  the  truth, 
Bryan,  I'm  only  afraid  they  will.  Making  things 
like  this  down  here  with  you,  you  understand,  is 
a  mildly  exhilarating  form  of  employment  that 
I  find  rather  entertaining — for  a  change.  But 
to  teach  such  specimens  of  young  America  as  I 
see  outside  your  doors — well,  if  I  must  come  In 
contact  with  that  sort,  I'd  really  prefer  to  do  it 
in  cooler  weather,  and  at  long  range,  don't  you 
know?" 

Bryan  shook  his  head  in  silence,  and  turned 
again  to  his  work.  Teddy  glanced  doubtfully 
once  or  twice  at  the  broad  back;  finally  he  set 
his  bit  of  ironwork  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  with 


94  THEODORE  BRYAN 

his  hands  in  his  pockets,  stood  looking  out  of 
the  window. 

"  I  wonder  now,"  he  drawled  after  a  few  mo- 
ments' silence,  "  if  this  young  gentleman  with 
the  mismatched  legs  can  be  one  of  those  eager 
pupils  you've  been  promising  me;  because  if  he 
is,  I'd  rather  he  wasn't.  I  can't  honestly  say 
that  I  consider  his  countenance  prepossessing, 
to  say  the  least." 

Bryan  turned  and  glanced  out  of  the  window. 
"  No,  Ted,  you  can't  have  him — he's  mine. 
That's  Trudo.  I'm  afraid  he  is  rather  a  hard 
customer;  but  that  only  means  that  he  needs 
help  all  the  more." 

He  went  to  the  door,  and  called  to  the  boy. 
"  Want  to  look  around  in  here,  Tony?  You  can 
if  you  like."  He  did  not  wait  for  any  response, 
but  went  back  to  his  work.  Teddy  sauntered 
across  to  the  other  room,  but  though  he  picked 
up  a  tool  and  seemed  to  be  busy,  he  placed  him- 
self so  that  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  he 
could  see  what  went  on  across  the  hall. 

The  boy  was  a  cripple,  one  of  his  legs  being 
shorter  than  the  other,  and  he  used  a  crutch. 
After  a  moment  of  hesitation  he  sidled  warily 
down  the  steps,  paused  for  a  moment  or  two 
in  the  doorway,  and  then  ventured  slowly  in 
and  slipped  into  a  chair,  his  small  black  eyes 
darting  swift,  furtive,  suspicious  glances  in 
every  direction,  like  some  wild  animal  scenting 
danger. 

For  a  while  he  watched  Bryan,  who  threw  him 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  95 

a  smile  or  a  word  now  and  then,  but  otherwise 
left  him  to  himself.  By-and-by  he  asked  a 
question  or  two  about  the  table  Bryan  was  work- 
ing on,  and  then  about  one  of  the  tools.  Then 
he  limped  across  the  hall,  and  from  the  door- 
way investigated  the  other  workroom,  but  he 
did  not  venture  in  there,  and  suddenly  he  was 
gone. 

Then  Teddy  sauntered  across  the  hall  again, 
and  perched  on  his  friend's  workbench. 

"  Did  I  understand  you  to  say  that  our  late 
caller  was  likely  to  be  an  apprentice  of  yours?" 
he  began. 

"  I  hope  so,"  Bryan  returned. 

"  Then,"  Teddy  resumed  lightly,  "  it  might  be 
advisable  hereafter  to  chain  your  tools  to  the 
bench." 

Bryan  looked  up  quickly.  "  Did  you  see  him 
take  anything  ?  " 

"  Unless  my  eyes  deceived  me — and  I  don't 
think  they  did — you'll  find  yourself  one  hammer 
short." 

"  Poor  little  chap !  "  said  Bryan  sadly.  "  He'll 
have  a  hard  fight  of  it,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Meaning ?  "  questioned  Teddy. 

"  Meaning,  Teddy,  that  he's  one  of  those  who 
never  had  a  chance.  His  father  is  in  prison, 
his  mother  most  of  the  time  in  the  workhouse  or 
the  penitentiary,  and  he  left  to  pick  up  a  living 
any  way  he  can,  with  the  odds  against  him  be- 
cause he's  a  cripple  and  can  neither  fight  nor 
run.  Ted — suppose  that  had  been  your  lot — 


96  THEODORE  BRYAN 

what  do  you  think  you  would  be  doing  to- 
day?" 

"  Picking  up  hammers  or  anything  else  I  could 
lay  my  hands  on,"  Ted  returned  promptly. 

Bryan  nodded.  "  That's  it,  you  see.  They 
aren't  to  blame,  most  of  them — these  poor  little 
footpads  and  pickpockets.  And  think  what  it 
means  to  save  even  one  of  them ! " 

"  Question — Is  there  anything  to  build  on  in 
a  thoroughly  bad  one  like  our  late  visitor  ?  "  Ted 
enquired  gravely. 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  Bryan's  answer  was  quick  and 
earnest.  "  Don't  you  see,  I  know,  because  I 
was  just  as  bad  as  he!  Ted,"  he  leaned  for- 
ward, his  plain  face  touched  with  deep  feeling, 
"  Ted,  you  remember  what  the  Book  says — 
'  God  created  man  in  His  own  image '?  I've 
thought  a  lot  about  that.  It  seems  to  me  like 
this,  that  every  soul  He  sends  into  the  world  is 
made  in  His  image — even  the  souls  of  these  poor 
little  waifs  around  us  here.  Then,  as  the  years 
pass,  sin  covers  that  image  deeper  and  deeper,  till 
— as  in  poor  little  Tony — it  seems  as  if  the  Image 
never  could  have  been  there  at  all,  but  it  is — 
it  is  there — and  if  we  can  only  brush  away  the 
accumulations  of  the  years  we  shall  bring  it  to 
the  light ;  and  that  means  a  boy  saved !  And  the 
Image  is  in  every  soul — remember  that.  Isn't 
such  work  better  than  money-making,  Teddy  ?  " 

Ted  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  silence,  but 
after  a  moment  he  returned,  "  I'll  suspend  judg- 
ment until  I  see  what  success  you  have  with 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  97 

our  ught-fingered  visitor.  He  seems  a  pretty 
tolerably  tough  subject.  I'll  make  a  bargain 
with  you,  Bryan.  If  you  succeed  in  bringing 
that — Image  to  light  in  Tony,  I'll  swing  into 
line  with  you  in  this  work  of  yours.  Yes,  I'm 
in  earnest;  but  I'm  afraid,"  he  added,  with  a 
return  to  his  usual  light  indifference,  "  that  the 
result  will  be  that  you'll  lose  Tony  and  me 
both." 

"  I'm  not  worrying,"  Bryan  answered  with 
grave  earnestness.  "  The  results  are  not  in  my 
hands,  you  know.  I'll  try  to  do  my  part,  and 
leave  the  rest " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  or  need  to. 

It  was  the  next  morning  that  the  two  were 
surprised  by  the  sudden  appearance  of  a  woman 
in  the  shop;  and  a  second  glance  assured  them 
both  that  it  was  the  same  one  that  they  had 
seen  in  the  agent's  office.  She  might  have  been 
about  fifty — perhaps  a  little  older,  and  was 
plump  and  "  comfortable-looking,"  with  kind 
blue  eyes,  and  soft  white  hair  framing  her 
pleasant,  motherly  face. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Bryan,"  she  said,  for 
all  the  world  as  if  she  had  known  him  all  his 
life.  "  And  where's  the  other  young  man  ?  Oh, 
here  he  is,"  as  Teddy  came  in  from  the  opposite 
room,  "  but  your  name  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  Nor  I  yours,  madam,"  retorted  Teddy 
promptly.  "  Permit  me  to  introduce  myself  as 
Edward  Kent  Marston — Teddy,  for  short — to 
my  friends." 


98  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Then  you'll  have  to  be  '  Teddy,  for  short '  to 
me,  for  I  intend  to  be  one  of  your  friends  as 
soon  as  possible.  You  see,"  she  turned  again 
to  Bryan,  "I'm  your  landlady,  if  you  please, 
and " 

"  Your  name  is  Knowles.  I  remember  now," 
put  in  Teddy. 

She  glanced  at  him  with  a  good-humoured  nod 
and  smile,  as  she  went  on,  "  I'm  going  to  move 
in  upstairs  to-morrow,  but  I  took  a  notion  I'd 
like  to  see  what  you  had  done  down  here.  May 
I  look  around  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  Bryan  assured  her,  and  went  on 
to  explain,  "  this  is  my  workroom,  and  Mr. 
Marston  has  the  other  front  one  for  the  pres- 
ent I'm  going  to  fix  up  one  of  these  back 
rooms  for  my  bedroom,  and  the  kitchen  will 
come  in  handy.  You  don't  mind,  do  you  ? — that 
we  unearthed,  or  rather  unbricked,  this  old 
fireplace  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed — why  should  I  mind  ?  It  was 
bricked  up,  was  it?  I  didn't  know  there  was 
any  fireplace  here.  You  see,"  she  explained, 
"  this  property  has  only  recently  come  into  my 
hands.  I  went  over  the  house  but  once  before 
I  bought  it,  and  this  basement  was  so  full  of 
rubbish  that  I  couldn't  tell  what  there  was  here. 
It  is  a  noble  old  fireplace — larger  than  the  one  I 
have  upstairs.  What  a  delight  it  will  be  for 
winter  evenings ! " 

"That's  what  we  think,"  Bryan  told  her 
eagerly.  "  My  boys — I'm  interested  in  a  boys' 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  99 

club — they'll  love  to  come  here  next  winter — at 
least  I  hope  they  will." 

Mrs.  Knowles  smiled  up  at  him  in  quick  re- 
sponse. "  Yes,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head 
briskly,  "  I'm  going  to  get  acquainted  with  those 
boys  of  yours."  She  laughed  out  suddenly,  a 
laugh  as  merry  and  light-hearted  as  a  girl's. 
"  Did  you  guess  that  I  was  eavesdropping  the 
other  day,  at  the  agent's  office?" 

"  Ah !  "  Bryan's  face  quickened  with  sudden 
understanding,  "  I  see.  That  explains  why  we 
were  kept  waiting  there  so  long.  It  was  so  that 
you  could  come  and  question  us  by  proxy,  before 
you  took  us  as  tenants." 

"Of  course,"  she  laughed,  " and  you  passed 
your  examination  all  right — no  conditions." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Bryan.  "  I'm  glad 
we  are  to  have  you  for  an  upstairs  neighbour,  as 
well  as  for  a  landlady." 

"  How  do  you  know  you  are  ?  "  she  flung  back 
at  him  gaily.  "  You  don't  know  yet  what  kind 
of  a  neighbour  I  shall  be,  or  what  sort  of  a 
family  I  have."  The  smile  faded  and  a  gentle 
gravity  touched  her  face  with  the  last  words,  and 
after  a  moment's  pause  she  went  on,  "  I  guess 
we  are  in  something  the  same  sort  of  work,  you 
and  I.  From  what  I  have  gathered,  this  work 
of  yours,"  they  were  back  in  the  workshop  now, 
"  is  only  a  side  issue — a  means  to  an  end.  Your 
real  work,  I  take  it,  is  saving  boys — street  boys  ?  " 

"  That's  it,"  Bryan  acknowledged. 

She  nodded  and  went  on,  "  Mine  is — well, 


100  THEODORE  BRYAN 

I'll  tell  you;  then  we'll  understand  each  other 
once  for  all.  I'm  quite  alone  in  the  world.  My 
husband  and  three  children  have  all  gone  home 
before  me,  and  while  I'm  waiting  for  my  sum- 
mons, I  felt  as  if  I'd  like  to  make  my  life  count 
for  something  in  the  world.  I've  a  little  prop- 
erty— enough  to  provide  for  my  few  wants  as 
long  as  I  live,  so  I  don't  have  to  work  for  my 
living.  Last  year  I  was  in  the  settlement  over 
on  Green  Street.  I  had  charge  of  the  woman's 
house,  but  I  got  an  idea  that  I  wanted  to  help  in 
another  way.  My  notion  is,  to  make  a  real  home 
— not  a  home  with  a  capital  H,  you  understand 
— but  just  a  pleasant,  comfortable  home  for  my- 
self, and  then  share  it  with  those  who  may  be 
sent  to  me.  Come  upstairs  and  I'll  show  you." 

They  followed  her  to  the  first  floor,  and  she 
went  on,  "  This  big  room  will  be  my  sitting- 
room  or  living-room,  and  here's  my  kitchen. 
Isn't  it  a  gem  of  a  kitchen?"  She  pointed  to 
the  enamelled  walls,  with  blue  Dutch  tiling 
around  the  porcelain  sink,  and  the  conveniences 
in  the  way  of  closets  and  pantry.  Across  the 
wide  hall,  with  its  big  window  and  broad  stair- 
way, were  two  bedrooms  and  two  tiled  baths. 

"  This  is  my  own  home — all  this  floor.  The 
extra  bedroom  is  for  my  guests — my  own 
friends,"  she  explained.  "  Now  I  want  to  show 
you  the  second  floor." 

Here  there  were,  on  each  side  of  the  hall, 
three  rooms — living-room  or  kitchen,  bedroom 
and  bath.  "  And  these,"  Mrs.  Knowles  went  on, 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  101 

"  are  for  my  other  friends — the  kind  you  are 
working  for,  Mr.  Bryan,  only  mine  will  be 
mostly  women  and  children  instead  of  boys — 
except  your  boys,"  she  added  with  quick  after- 
thought. 

"  But  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Bryan. 
"  Do  you  intend  to  rent  these  rooms,  or  to  bring 
to  them  those  who  cannot  pay  rent  ?  " 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  she  answered  uncon- 
cernedly. "  If  rent  is  paid  for  them,  it  won't 
go  into  my  pocket;  it  will  be  just  so  much  more 
to  use  for  somebody  else  that  may  need  it. 
These  are  my  '  prophet's  chambers,'  you  under- 
stand. I  expect  occupants  will  be — sent — to  fill 
them." 

"  Yes,"  Bryan  assented  in  a  low  tone,  his  eyes 
shining,  "  they  will  surely  be  sent." 

"  And  the  attics  ?  "  questioned  Teddy. 

Mrs.  Knowles  smiled  at  him.  "  Run  up  and 
see  them  if  you  want  to.  I  think  I  don't  want 
to  climb  any  more  stairs  just  now.  I  haven't 
decided  yet  what  I  shall  do  with  the  attics.  But 
I  am  glad,  Mr.  Bryan,  that  you  are  going  to 
sleep  in  the  house,  just  at  first  especially,  while 
I  have  nobody  with  me  except  Duffer.  Duffer 
is  my  dog." 

"  Yes,  I  shall  get  my  bedroom  ready  to-mor- 
row," Bryan  told  her,  though  until  that  moment 
he  had  not  planned  to  do  so  until  later. 

A  commotion  in  the  street  made  him  turn 
quickly  to  the  window;  looking  down,  he  saw  a 
throng  of  hooting,  yelling  boys,  with  a  fringe  of 


102  THEODORE  BRYAN 

girls,  cheering  on  two  others  who  were  trying 
to  tie  a  tin  can  to  the  tail  of  a  small  dog — a 
task  that  was  somewhat  difficult  of  accomplish- 
ment because  of  the  extreme  activity  and  ener- 
getic resistance  of  the  dog,  whose  shrill,  defiant 
barks  now  mingled  with  the  yells  of  the  look- 
ers-on. 

Mrs.  Knowles,  peering  over  Bryan's  shoulder, 
suddenly  cried  out,  "  My  land,  I  do  believe  that's 
my  Duffer  now.  I  shut  him  up,  but  he  must 
have  slipped  out  somehow  and  followed  me." 

"  I'll  put  a  stop  to  that  business ! "  Bryan  ex- 
claimed, and  went  down  the  stairs  so  swiftly 
that  in  another  minute  he  was  in  the  midst  of 
the  noisy  group  outside.  He  used  no  ceremony, 
flinging  the  boys  aside  with  no  gentle  hand,  and 
laying  a  strong  grasp  on  the  collar  of  the 
trembling  dog.  But  the  boy  who  was  holding 
the  dog  did  not  loosen  his  grip ;  instead,  he  looked 
up  at  the  newcomer  with  an  angry  snarl  as  he 
cried  out,  "  G'wan  out  o'  this,  you !  It's  none 
o'  your  dog !  " 

"  An'  none  o'  your  business,  neither !  "  put  in 
the  fellow  who  held  the  can.  As  he  spoke,  he 
again  attempted  to  tie  the  string  about  the  dog's 
tail. 

"  Will  you  quit,  or  shall  I  make  you  ?  Be- 
cause this  is  going  to  stop  right  here,  under- 
stand." Bryan's  voice  was  very  quiet — almost 
gentle — but  the  fire  in  his  eyes  meant  battle,  and 
the  boys  were  quick  to  recognise  it. 

Suddenly  half  a  dozen  of  them  with  one  ac- 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  103 

cord  fell  upon  him  from  the  rear,  belabouring 
him  with  sturdy  fists,  hard  as  stones.  But  as  fie 
turned  to  defend  himself,  a  stream  of  water 
deluged  his  assailants,  and  they  hastily  scattered. 
At  the  same  time  the  boy  who  was  holding  the 
dog  gave  a  violent  jerk  that  almost  broke  Bryan's 
grip  of  the  collar — almost,  but  not  quite;  and 
the  next  instant,  with  his  free  hand  he  caught 
the  boy's  ear  and  twisted  it  till  the  fellow  let  go 
his  hold  and  yelled  with  pain. 

"Had  enough?"  Bryan  demanded.  "Will 
you  leave  the  dog  alone  now  ?  " 

As  the  boy  kicked  viciously  at  Bryan's  ankles, 
a  stream  from  a  hosepipe  struck  him  full  in  the 
face,  and  sputtering,  gasping,  and  swearing,  he 
turned  and  ran,  leaving  to  Bryan  the  victory — 
and  the  dog. 

He  picked  up  the  wet,  trembling  little  crea- 
ture and,  followed  by  a  storm  of  hoots,  jeers, 
and  taunts  from  the  crowd,  carried  it  into  the 
house,  where  Mrs.  Knowles  received  it  with  a 
mingling  of  laughter  and  indignation. 

"  Poor  little  Duffer !  "  she  cried.  "  Scared  Al- 
most to  death,  aren't  you !  But  it  was  so  funny 
to  see  those  boys  scatter  when  Mr.  Marston 
turned  the  hose  on  them!  Wasn't  he  quick  to 
think  of  it?  But  I  declare,  Mr.  Bryan,  my  heart 
was  in  my  mouth  when  I  saw  those  big  fellows 
set  on  you  from  behind.  One  of  them  had 
snatched  up  a  broken  brick,  but  he  didn't  get  a 
chance  to  hit  you  with  it  before  the  water 
knocked  him  out." 


104  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Teddy  now  appeared,  serene  and  smiling. 

"  You  came  to  the  rescue  in  fine  style,"  Bryan 
told  him.  "  Some  of  those  big  fellows  were  in 
a  pretty  ugly  mood  over  having  their  fun  in- 
terfered with.  They  were  ripe  for  worse 
mischief." 

"  Yes — you'll  probably  have  more  trouble  with 
them — they'll  want  to  get  even.  Seems  to  me," 
Teddy  looked  at  his  friend's  coat,  "  you're  rather 
damp  yourself.  I'm  not  an  expert  in  water- 
firing  yet,"  he  added  in  whimsical  apology. 
"  Next  time  I'll  try  to  let  the  enemy  get  all  the 
showers." 

"That's  all  right.  I'm  quite  willing  to  take 
my  share,"  Bryan  laughed. 

But  Mrs.  Knowles  was  looking  anxiously  at 
him.  "  Oh,  I  do  hope  those  boys  won't  set  on 
you  again  on  account  of  this,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  That  isn't  worth  a  thought,"  Bryan  assured 
her  lightly,  as  he  pulled  the  dog's  ears,  while 
Duffer  twisted  his  head  a  dozen  ways  in  a  min- 
ute, trying  to  lick  the  fingers  of  this  new  friend. 

"  He's  adopted  you,  you  see,"  said  Mrs. 
Knowles,  "  and  Duffer  is  a  friend  worth  hav- 
ing— at  least,  I  think  so." 

"  I  was  wondering,"  observed  Teddy,  looking 
at  the  dog  with  an  air  of  grave  consideration, 
"  what  particular  breed  he  is.  What  should  you 
say  now,  Mrs.  Knowles  ?  " 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  a  twinkle  in  her 
blue  eyes.  "  I  think  he's  like  that  dog  the  little 
boy  claimed  was  *  pure  mongrel ' ;  but  he's  just 


GREEN  TREE  HOUSE  105 

as  good  and  faithful  as  if  he  had  won  a  dozen 
blue  ribbons  at  as  many  benchshows.  He  isn't 
pretty — I  never  claim  beauty  for  him,"  she  softly 
smoothed  the  dog's  rough  dust-coloured  coat, 
"  but  just  look  into  those  honest  brown  eyes 
of  his,  and  you'll  see  that  he  will  be  as  true  as 
steel  to  his  friends." 

"  I'm  sure  of  that,"  Bryan  said.  "  He  might 
be  the  twin  brother  of  the  only  dog  I  ever  owned, 
and  he  was  as  true  a  friend  as  any  one  could 
want." 


VII 

"  KNIGHTS  "  IN  THE  ROUGH 

TEDDY'S  prophecy, regarding  trouble  from 
the  street  boys  with  whose  sport  Bryan 
had  interfered,  speedily  came  true.  The 
very  next  morning  the  basement  windows  were 
found  to  be  streaked  and  spattered  with  mud, 
and  the  steps  liberally  garnished  with  ashes. 
The  following  night  several  garbage  cans  were 
emptied  down  the  steps,  and  a  day  or  two  later, 
when  he  opened  the  door  in  the  morning,  Bryan 
found  a  mangy,  dead  cat  hanging  to  the  knob. 

"  How  long  are  you  going  to  put  up  with  this 
sort  of  thing?"  Teddy  enquired,  moving  hastily 
aside  as  Bryan  gingerly  detached  the  cat-re- 
mains from  the  knob. 

"  The  boys  will  get  tired  of  this  fun  after  a 
while,"  Bryan  returned  cheerfully.  "  Besides," 
he  added,  "  I'm  going  to  capture  the  ringleaders 
soon,  I  hope." 

"  Do  you  know  who  the  ringleaders  are  ?  " 

"  Yes,  some  of  the  boys  have  found  that  out 
for  me.  The  one  that  held  Duffer  the  other 
day  is  '  Black  Jim,'  and  the  fellow  who  was  trying 
to  tie  on  the  can  is  known  as  '  Paddy  Mack.'  It 
appears  that  the  two  are  rivals  for  leadership  of 
106 


"  KNIGHTS  "  IN  THE  ROUGH    107 

the  '  Sabin  Street  gang,'  and  they  must  be  pretty 
equally  matched,  for  they've  had  innumerable 
fights  at  intervals,  and  neither  can  whip  the  other 
enough  to  claim  a  victory.  When  there's  any 
special  mischief  on  hand  they  join  forces,  as 
they  did  over  Duffer  the  other  day.  When  they 
can't  find  anything  or  anybody  to  torment,  they 
set  to  and  pummel  each  other." 

"  And  you  propose  to  capture  them — how  ?  " 

"  That  remains  to  be  seen." 

"And  if  you  succeed,  what  will  you  do  with 
them?" 

"  Tame  them.  Such  fighters  ought  to  make 
good  workers  in  some  line,  once  they  are  tamed." 

"  Yes,"  laughed  Teddy,  "  once  they  are." 

"  Oh,  they  will  be.  It's  only  a  question  of 
time  and  patience." 

Teddy  shook  his  head  with  an  incredulous  lift 
of  his  eyebrows. 

"  I  shouldn't  call  it  a  promising  undertaking," 
he  returned,  and  then  he  added :  "  How  about 
Limpy  and  the  hammer?  Given  him  up — them, 
I  should  say?" 

"Tony  Trudo?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  He'll  be 
back — he  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  stay  away 
from  this  shop.  You  didn't  notice  his  hands, 
did  you?  Well,  do,  the  next  time  you  see  him. 
Just  watch  him  handle  the  tools.  He  can  do 
better  work  with  a  common  jack-knife  than 
most  of  the  boys  could  do  with  the  finest  tools 
— and  he's  wild  to  be  making  things,  just  for 
the  pure  love  of  it.  Oh,  Tony  will  come  out 


108  THEODORE  BRYAN 

all  right.  I  shouldn't  be  surprised  if  he  had 
charge  of  this  shop  in  a  few  years." 

Teddy  looked  into  the  earnest  face  of  his 
friend,  and  suddenly  his  merry  eyes  grew  very 
tender.  "  Bryan,  where  you  get  so  much  hope 
and  courage  stumps  me,"  he  declared.  "  I 
should  say  that  the  material  you're  working  with 
— the  human  material,  I  mean — is  a  pretty  hope- 
less lot,  most  of  it." 

"  Ah,"  returned  Bryan,  "  that's  because  you 
don't  know.  They  can't  be  any  more  hopeless 
than  I  was  once.  You  see  I  never  forget  that." 

"  No,"  Teddy  flung  out  with  affectionate  im- 
patience. "  I  wish  sometimes  you  would  forget 
it.  And  I  don't  believe  you  ever  were  like  some 
of  these  boys  of  yours — you  can't  make  me  be- 
lieve it." 

Bryan  shook  his  head  in  silence,  but  with  a 
smile  that  acknowledged  his  friend's  loyalty. 

His  own  faith  in  Tony  was  justified  a  few 
days  later  when  Teddy,  coming  in,  found  the 
lame  boy  watching  Bryan  doing  a  piece  of  care- 
ful work  on  an  oaken  linen  chest  that  Ted  had 
ordered  for  his  cousin.  Tony  was  so  absorbed  in 
the  work  that  he  did  not  even  glance  up  when 
Teddy  entered  the  room,  and  the  young  man 
stood  looking  on,  far  more  interested  in  the  two 
eager,  intent  faces  bent  over  the  chest  than  he 
was  in  the  work  itself. 

Suddenly  the  boy  cried  out  impatiently,  "  Say 
— why  don't  you  try  it  the  other  way  ?  Here,  gi' 
me  that ! "  He  snatched  the  tool  roughly  from 


"  KNIGHTS  "  IN  THE  ROUGH     109 

Bryan's  hand— "  I'll  show  ye."  Then  he  bent 
over  the  chest,  his  eyes  a-glow,  his  hands  moving 
swiftly,  surely,  without  an  instant's  hesitation. 
"  There !  I  knew  that  was  the  way !  "  he  ex- 
ulted presently,  throwing  down  the  tool. 

"  Good  for  you,  Tony.  You'll  be  a  master- 
workman  yet,"  Bryan  told  him,  and  Tony's 
dark  face  flushed  with  pleasure. 

As  the  boy  was  about  to  slip  away  in  his  usual 
silent,  furtive  fashion,  Bryan  held  out  his  hand 
for  the  crutch  Tony  had  picked  up. 

"  Let  me  look  at  that,"  he  said. 

Tony  eyed  him  suspiciously.  "  Wat  for  ? 
Wat's  the  matter  of  it  ?  "  he  demanded  in  his 
gruffest  voice. 

"  A  great  deal  is  the  matter  with  it.  It  isn't 
the  right  shape,  in  the  first  place,  and  it's  too 
short — it  makes  you  lean  too  much  to  one  side," 
Bryan  answered ;  and  as  he  handed  it  back  to  the 
boy,  he  added  carelessly,  "  You  could  easily 
make  yourself  a  better  one  out  of  some  of  this 
rubbish  here — if  you  want  to." 

Again  Tony's  fierce  black  eyes  flamed  with 
quick  suspicion.  There  must  be  something  un- 
der this  offer,  he  was  sure.  Something  for  noth- 
ing was  unheard  of  in  the  world  he  knew,  poor 
lad. 

"  Wat  yer  givin'  me  ?  "  he  demanded  sullenly, 
yet  with  a  faint  touch  of  hope.  Then  with  sud- 
den alarm — "I  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  roped  in  to 
none  o'  them  schools  an'  things,  an'  you  needn't 
think  it!" 


110  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  What  schools  ?  I've  nothing  to  do  with 
any  schools;  and  as  to  the  crutch — do  as  you 
like,"  returned  Bryan  unconcernedly.  "  If  you 
prefer  to  twist  yourself  out  of  shape  using  that 
old  stick,  why  do  so,  of  course.  It's  your  own 
business,  not  mine." 

He  turned  his  back  on  the  boy,  and  when  he 
looked  around  again  Tony  had  slipped  away. 

"  I  didn't  see  him  take  anything  this  time," 
Teddy  remarked.  "  Pleasing  youth,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"Poor  Tony!"  Bryan  sighed.  "But  he'll 
come  back  and  make  that  crutch." 

"  I  reckon  he  will.  You  seem  to  have  a  mar- 
vellous drawing  power  for  his  sort,"  Teddy 
answered. 

The  next  morning  when  he  reached  the  shop 
— Teddy  was  not  an  early  riser,  and  seldom  ap- 
peared before  nine  or  even  ten  o'clock — he 
found  Bryan  at  work  as  usual,  but  beside  his 
workbench  sat  two  hard-faced  boys  of  fifteen 
or  sixteen,  whom  he  presently  surmised  to  be 
Black  Jim  and  Paddy  Mack.  The  former  evi- 
dently owed  his  nickname  to  his  swarthy  skin 
and  his  black  eyes  and  hair.  The  fresh-coloured 
freckled  face  of  the  other,  his  sandy  hair, 
and  blue  eyes  with  a  humourous  twinkle  flash- 
ing out  now  and  again — proclaimed  his  Irish 
origin. 

Teddy  wondered  much  how  the  boys  came  to 
be  there.  They  were  plainly  ill  at  ease,  but 
Bryan  apparently  paid  not  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  them.  There  was  a  touch  of  relief, 


Then  the  black  head  and  the  sandy  one  together  bent 
over  it   with   eager   interest 


"KNIGHTS"  IN  THE  ROUGH     111 

however,  in  his  face  and  voice  as  his  friend 
entered. 

"  Look  here,  Marston,"  he  called.  "  Can  you 
remember  how  to  open  this  puzzle  box  ?  " 

Marston  gave  him  a  swift,  inquiring  glance  as 
he  took  the  carved  wooden  box  that  Bryan  picked 
up  from  the  bench  and  held  out  to  him.  He 
knew  perfectly  well  how  to  open  it — by  holding 
it  in  a  certain  way  when  he  pressed  the  in- 
visible spring;  but  now  he  turned  it  about1  in 
his  hands  as  if  he  were  trying  to  puzzle  out  the 
secret,  while,  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye,  he 
watched  the  boys.  He  guessed  that  their  fingers 
were  itching  to  get  hold  of  the  thing.  Finally, 
with  a  swift  motion,  he  pressed  the  spring  and 
the  box  flew  open.  "  It's  easy,"  he  remarked, 
closing  it  again,  and  putting  it  down  on  the  bench. 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Bryan  in  an  absent- 
minded  fashion,  his  attention  apparently  ab- 
sorbed in  the  work  he  was  doing.  He  left  the 
box  where  his  friend  placed  it,  while  Teddy, 
picking  up  a  newspaper,  seated  himself  so  that 
he  could  keep  an  eye  on  the  boys.  Black  Jim  sat 
nearest  the  box.  After  a  little,  inch  by  inch,  his 
fingers  began  to  creep  towards  it,  and  at  last  he 
had  it  in  his  hands.  Then  the  black  head  and  the 
sandy  one  together  bent  over  it  with  eager  in- 
terest. Now  and  then,  as  no  one  seemed  to  notice 
them,  there  was  an  interchange  of  whispered 
words,  to  which  Bryan  was  conveniently  deaf. 

When  at  last  he  turned  towards  the  boys,  they 
dropped  the  box  with  all  haste. 


114  THEODORE  BRYAN 

club,  with  some  from  Sabin  Street,  for  an  out- 
ing on  the  steamers  or  the  recreation  wharves, 
or  for  a  country  walk  or  a  trolley  ride.  Usually 
Bennie  went  along  too,  and  not  seldom  Teddy 
made  one  of  the  company.  The  boys  were  as 
yet  a  little  shy  of  Teddy,  he  was  so  plainly  of 
a  different  world  from  theirs.  They  admired 
him,  liked  him  in  a  way,  but  they  never 
"  banked "  on  his  friendship  as  they  did  on 
Bryan's  from  the  very  first. 

As  for  Bennie — his  violin  was  an  open  sesame 
to  boyish  hearts.  Many  and  many  a  rough  lad, 
sauntering  past  Green  Tree  House  in  search  of 
mischief,  was  caught  by  the  magic  notes  that 
floated  out  from  the  old  basement,  and  stopped 
to  listen;  and  many  a  one  was  lured  in  by  the 
irresistible  appeal  of  the  music.  The  first  time, 
perhaps,  they  staid  but  a  few  minutes,  hovering 
about  the  door,  ready  to  take  flight  at  a  mo- 
ment's notice ;  but  once  in,  they  were  almost  sure 
to  return  again  and  again,  for  no  other  place 
in  their  world  offered  so  many  attractions  as 
that  shop,  and  the  wide,  low,  comfortable  room 
behind  it. 

Sometimes  Mrs.  Knowles  would  beg  Bennie 
to  play  for  her,  and  after  a  while  it  came  to  be 
the  happy  evening  custom  for  him  to  sit  in  her 
big  old-fashioned  hall  with  the  doors  at  either 
end  flung  wide,  that  the  air  might  sweep  through, 
and  play  for  an  hour  in  the  early  evening.  Soon 
the  children  of  the  neighbourhood  began  to 
gather  every  night  upon  the  steps  to  listen,  and 


"KNIGHTS"  IN  THE  ROUGH     115 

then,  as  there  was  not  room  enough  on  the  steps, 
they  stood  on  the  sidewalk  below,  or  sat  on  the 
curbstone.  There  were  men  and  women  too, 
among  the  listeners — more  and  more  of  them  as 
the  days  went  on. 

One  summer  evening  a  half-grown  girl  on 
the  steps  pleaded  for  "  something  to  dance  to," 
and  Bennie  struck  up  a  tune  so  lively  and  so 
gay  that  even  weary  feet  could  not  resist  it, 
and  soon  a  dozen  couples  were  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  street  keeping  step  to  the  music, 
while  Mrs.  Knowles  and  Bryan  and  Teddy 
looked  on  and  enjoyed  it  as  much  as  did  the 
dancers. 

After  that  Bennie  usually  played  dance  music 
for  a  while,  and  not  only  children,  or  even  young 
men  and  girls  danced  to  the  magic  strains,  but 
more  than  once  a  father  and  daughter  danced 
together,  and  now  and  then  a  woman  left  her 
babies  and  her  cares  for  a  few  minutes,  and  felt 
her  youth  renewed  as,  once  again,  her  husband's 
arm  was  flung  about  her  and  they  kept  step  to- 
gether to  the  old  familiar  music. 

And  often  after  they  had  danced  a  while, 
Bennie  would  play  some  patriotic  air — America 
or  Dixie  or  The  Star  Spangled  Banner — and 
quickly  the  children's  voices  would  ring  out  in 
the  familiar  words  learnt  at  school,  and  if  the 
older  ones  did  not  know  the  words,  they  could 
at  least,  many  of  them,  hum  the  tune,  and  the 
chorus  would  swell  and  swell,  until  the  street 
echoed  with  the  stirring  notes  and  at  windows 


116  THEODORE  BRYAN 

all  up  and  down  the  square  were  interested 
listeners. 

But  best  of  all  they  loved — those  tired,  hard- 
working, poverty-worn  men  and  women,  and 
even  the  rough  children  of  the  streets — best  of 
all  they  loved  the  sweet,  low,  tender  melodies 
that  Bennie  always  played  last.  Quickly  they 
learned  to  distinguish  them,  and  would  beg  for 
their  favourites  over  and  over  again.  And  when 
the  hour  was  ended,  they  would  go  quietly  away 
to  their  homes.  The  Sabin  Street  saloons  had 
fewer  customers  because  of  Bennie's  violin. 

Before  the  middle  of  August,  Tony  Trudo 
had  fallen  into  the  habit  of  coming  often  to  the 
shop.  He  had  made  himself  a  fine  new  crutch 
of  which  he  was  extremely  proud,  and  had  given 
many  hours  of  work  just  for  the  pleasure  he 
had  in  handling  the  tools  and  the  wood.  Teddy, 
who  had  ears  of  the  keenest,  overheard,  some- 
times, from  his  room  across  the  hall,  the  talk 
that  went  on  when  no  other  boys  were  there. 
Sometimes  Bryan  would  tell  Tony  something 
that  he  had  read,  sometimes  it  was  a  bit  of 
natural  history,  sometimes  a  story  of  the  good 
bishop's  work  among  the  boys;  but  there  was 
never  any  "  preaching,"  and  often  the  two  would 
work  together  almost  in  silence.  Yet  every 
hour  that  Tony  spent  in  the  shop  strengthened 
Bryan's  hold  on  him. 

"  How  does  that  little  Dago  earn  his  bread  and 
butter?"  Teddy  enquired  one  day,  when  Bryan 
was  showing  him  some  of  the  boy's  work. 


"  KNIGHTS  "  IN  THE  ROUGH    117 

"  Selling  papers  and  doing  odd  jobs.  I'm 
afraid  he  is  spending  too  much  time  here — I 
mean  that  he  isn't  earning  enough.  Did  you  see 
how  quickly  he  put  that  banana  out  of  sight 
yesterday?" 

Teddy  frowned.  "  You  mean  that  he  goes 
hungry  ?  "  he  demanded  sharply. 

"  Sometimes — I  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  Oh,  come  now,  that  won't  do.  We  must 
fill  him  up  next  time  he  comes,"  Teddy  declared. 

Bryan's  face  brightened.  "  So  we  will,  Ted. 
I'll  invite  him  to  take  supper  with  me." 

"  No,  no,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  Teddy  remon- 
strated hastily.  "  Why,  you'd  want  to  put  him 
a-soak  a  week  first." 

"  Hardly  that  long,"  laughed  Bryan,  "  but  I'll 
ask  Mrs.  Knowles  to  loan  me  one  of  her  bath- 
rooms for  an  hour.  Tony  can't  go  swimming 
off  the  wharves  with  the  other  fellows — they're 
too  rough  for  him — but  I  think  he'd  enjoy  a 
swim  in  a  bath-tub." 

"  But  she  wouldn't  want  a  boy  like  that  in  her 
bathroom,"  Teddy  objected  in  a  tone  that  made 
evident  his  own  feeling  on  the  subject. 

"Not?"  Bryan's  face  lighted  up.  "Why, 
Ted,  don't  you  understand  that  that's  just  what 
she  fitted  those  rooms  up  for?  I  mean  for  the 
use  of  Tony's  sort,  that  never  have  known  the 
comfort  of  a  good  bath  before — don't  you  know 
that?" 

"But  not  street  boys!"  Teddy  persisted. 

"  Boys  or  girls,  what's  the  difference  so  far 


118  THEODORE  BRYAN 

as  the  use  of  the  bathroom  is  concerned?  Ted, 
you  don't  know  Mrs.  Knowles  yet.  A  dirty  face 
isn't  going  to  frighten  her,  nor  a  dirty  body 
either." 

"  Here  comes  another  of  your  young  hope- 
fuls," Teddy  broke  in  as  a  shadow  darkened  the 
window.  "  I  guess  I've  seen  enough  of  them 
for  one  day,"  and  with  that  he  was  gone. 

Bryan  looked  around  to  see,  peering  in  at 
the  door,  the  Irish  face  of  Paddy  Mack,  his 
mouth  widened  in  an  impudent  grin,  his  hands 
stuffed  deep  in  his  ragged  pockets. 

"  'Mornin',"  he  volunteered  cheerfully. 

"  Good-morning.  Anything  I  can  do  for 
you  ?  "  Bryan  questioned. 

"  Er — mebbe  now  ye  wouldn't  mind  lettin'  me 
have  a  thry  at  that  quare  box  I  seen  here  t'other 
day?"  There  was  an  air  of  wheedling  assur- 
ance about  the  boy  as  he  stepped  in  without 
waiting  for  an  invitation. 

Bryan  looked  at  him  with  an  air  of  con- 
sideration. "  Why — yes,  I  suppose  you  can  see 
it,"  he  said  slowly.  He  brought  out  the  box. 
"Handle  it  carefully,"  he  added.  "I  don't 
want  it  broken." 

Mack  nodded.  For  half  an  hour  he  worked 
over  the  box;  then  he  held  it  out  to  Bryan. 
"  Le'  see  you  do  it,"  he  said. 

Bryan  gave  the  box  two  or  three  swift  turns, 
then  touched  the  spring  and  it  opened. 

"  Gi'  me  it  again,"  cried  the  boy,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  he  announced  triumphantly,  "  I  got  it !  " 


"  KNIGHTS  "  IN  THE  ROUGH    119 

Then  scornfully,  "  Aw,  that  ain't  nothin'.  Take 
yer  ol'  box !  "  He  flung  it  roughly  down  on  the 
bench,  and  was  gone. 

Two  days  later  Black  Jim  walked  boldly  in, 
taking  care,  however,  at  first,  not  to  let  Bryan 
get  between  him  and  the  door.  But  Bryan  kept 
on  with  his  work,  only  saying  in  a  casual  tone, 
as  if  the  boy  had  been  an  every-day  visitor, 
"  How  are  you,  Jim?  " 

Had  he  been  urged  or  even  invited  to  stay, 
Jim  would  have  held  back;  as  it  was,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  he  slouched  across  the  room 
with  an  air  of  dogged  determination. 

"  I  want  to  see  that  box  what  won't  open," 
he  announced  gruffly. 

"  Do  you  ?  "  returned  Bryan  quietly. 

Jim  eyed  him  with  dark  suspicion.  "  Didn't 
I  say  it?  "  he  growled. 

"  Yes." 

Jim  dropped  into  a  chair,  but  he  had  the  effect 
of  being  ready  to  spring  up  and  dart  out  the 
door  at  any  moment.  He  did  not  go,  however, 
but  sat  there  flashing  furtive,  searching  glances 
around  the  room. 

"  Where  is  it — that  puzzle  box  ?  "  he  demanded 
after  a  while. 

Bryan  looked  him  quietly  in  the  eye.  "  Jim," 
he  said,  "  you  haven't  a  very  pleasant  way  of 
asking  a  favour.  Some  day  you'll  know  better. 
What  do  you  want  the  box  for?" 

"  I'm  goin'  to  find  out  how  to  get  it  open. 
That  freckle- faced  Paddy — he's  goin'  'round 


120  THEODORE  BRYAN 

braggin'  that  he  found  out  the  trick  of  it  him- 
self. Did  he?"  He  flashed  the  question  at 
Bryan,  "  Or  was  he  lyin'  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  did — mostly  by  himself,"  Bryan  an- 
swered. 

"  Well  then,  I'm  a-goin'  to.  I  ain't  a-goin'  to 
have  him  swellin'  'round,  flingin'  at  me,  the " 

"  That  will  do !  "  Bryan's  stern  voice  stopped 
the  string  of  adjectives  with  which  Jim  was 
adorning  his  rival's  name.  "  None  of  that  talk 
here.  Do  you  understand?" 

For  a  moment  Jim's  black  eyes  glared  defiance, 
then  they  wavered  and  fell.  "  Well  then,  gi" 
me  that  box,"  he  growled. 

Bryan  brought  the  box  from  the  next  room, 
and  Jim  set  to  work  with  stubborn  determination 
to  discover  the  secret.  The  minutes  slipped 
away.  One  hour — two,  passed,  and  still  the 
black  head  bent  persistently  over  the  box. 

"Shall  I  show  you  the  trick,  Jim?"  Bryan 
asked  then. 

"  You  bet  you  won't.  Think  I'm  goin'  to  have 
that  Irish  chucklehead  crowin'  over  me  ? "  re- 
turned Jim,  sulky  but  determined. 

Finally  a  shrill  whistle  sounded  down  the 
street.  Jim's  head  went  up — snuffing  battle. 
"  It's  him — Paddy,"  he  growled,  casting  an  un- 
easy glance  at  the  window. 

"You  can  take  the  box  into  the  back  room 
there,  if  you  like,"  Bryan  suggested  quietly. 

The  boy  started  up  instantly,  but  Bryan  de- 
tained him  with  a  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Jim, 


"  KNIGHTS  "  IN  THE  ROUGH    121 

there  are  some  valuable  tools  in  there.  Can  I 
trust  you  ?  " 

"  You  bet ! "  The  black  eyes  met  the  grey 
ones  now  without  flinching. 

"  All  right  then — go  on." 

And  Jim  vanished  just  in  time  to  escape  the 
searching  glance  that  Mack  sent  through  the  low 
window  as  he  flattened  his  nose  against  the  glass. 

Another  hour  passed  and  yet  one  more,  be- 
fore Bryan  looked  into  the  back  room  to  see' 
Jim  still  fumbling  over  the  box.  The  face  he 
lifted  was  baffled  and  angry,  but  Bryan  read 
in  it  something  else.  He  smiled  at  the  boy,  and 
Bryan's  smile  was  good  to  see.  Jim's  hard, 
obstinate  face  softened  under  it  a  trifle;  only  a 
trifle,  however,  and  then  the  scowl  between  the 
dark  brows  deepened. 

"  You're  not  a  quitter  anyhow,  Jim,"  was  all 
Bryan  said  as  he  turned  away. 

From  the  kitchen  beyond  Jim  heard  presently 
the  clatter  of  dishes,  and  then  the  cool  tinkle  of 
ice  against  glass.  He  wiped  the  perspiration 
from  his  forehead  with  his  sleeve,  and  bent  again 
over  the  box.  Bryan  had  been  half  expecting  to 
hear  it  go  crashing  against  the  wall,  but  it  didn't, 
and  when  he  went  again  to  the  door  and  said 
quietly : 

"  Jim,  it's  my  supper  time  and  I'm  hungry. 
Will  you  take  a  bite  with  me  ? "  the  boy,  after  a 
second  of  half -bewildered  wonder,  set  the  box 
down  carefully  and  slouched  into  the  other  room. 

There  was  a  little  round  table  with  a  clean 


122  THEODORE  BRYAN 

white  cloth,  set  for  two.  Jim,  dropping  into  the 
seat  Bryan  indicated,  drew  in  his  breath  sharply 
as  he  saw  the  fresh  bread  and  butter,  cold  meat 
and  iced  milk  and  fruit.  No  urging  was  needed. 
He  ate  with  a  hungry  avidity,  snatching  the  food 
with  his  fingers,  and  bolting  it  like  a  starving 
dog.  Bryan  kept  his  plate  supplied,  but  did  not 
talk  much  to  him. 

"  Going  to  try  a  while  longer  at  that  box  ?  "  he 
inquired,  when  Jim  at  last  pushed  back  his  chair. 

The  boy  nodded  silently,  and  vanished  into  the 
other  room.  Five  minutes  later  he  appeared, 
triumphantly  exhibiting  the  box  wide  open. 

"  I  c'n  do  it  every  time  now,"  he  exulted,  his 
black  eyes  all  a-shine  with  satisfaction. 

"  I  knew  you'd  do  it.  A  fellow  can  do  most 
things  if  he  tries  long  enough,"  Bryan  said,  but 
Jim  cut  him  short. 

"  Now  I'll  tell  that  Paddy "  The  rest  of 

the  sentence  was  lost  in  the  noise  of  his  heavy 
shoes  as  he  went  clattering  up  the  basement  steps. 


VIII 
TOMMY  O'BRIEN 

MARSTON,  you've  got  to  get  out  of 
this — you  can't  stand  it,  you  know." 
It  was  Bryan  who  spoke,  his  eyes 
anxiously  searching  his  friend's  face.     Marston, 
in  summer  flannels,  was  leaning  back  in  a  big 
chair  beside  his  work-table.     He  frowned  im- 
patiently at  Bryan's  words. 

"  Guess  I  can  stand  it  if  you  can,"  he  re- 
torted. "  It's  only  that  I'm  a  bit  wilted  by  this 
sizzling  weather.  I'm  all  right." 

"  No,  you're  not.  You're  not  eating,  and  I 
don't  believe  you're  sleeping  well — are  you? 
Own  up  now." 

"  Who  can  sleep  in  a  furnace  like  this — in 
August  ?  "  Teddy  responded.  "  I  don't  believe 
anybody  in  this  town  slept  last  night." 

"  It  sure  was  a  scorcher,"  Bryan  replied. 
"  Something  broke  down  on  the  steamer,  and  I 
didn't  get  back  with  the  boys  till  near  midnight. 
The  Common  was  a  sight  then.  In  the  moon- 
light it  looked  fairly  black  with  men  and  boys 
sleeping  on  the  benches  and  grass." 

"  I  don't  wonder — poor  souls,"  was  Teddy's 
comment. 

128 


124  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Look  here,  Ted — I  wish  you'd  take  Bennie 
off  somewhere.  I  don't  feel  easy  about  the  boy. 
He's  not  looking  well,  and  I  can't  persuade 
him  to  go  down  in  the  country  where  Nan 
and  the  babies  are.  I  think  he'd  go  with  you, 
though." 

"  Take  him  away  yourself — he'd  follow  you  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth.  Maybe  I'd  tag  along  too, 
if  you'd  do  that." 

"  I  can't,  Ted.  I'm  really  beginning  now  to 
get  hold  of  Tony  and  Jim  and  some  of  the  others 
that  I've  been  fishing  for,  and  I  can't  afford  to 
make  a  break  just  now — there'd  be  too  much 
ground  lost.  And  besides,  you  know  I'm 
strong  and  well  and  don't  need  to  go  off.  But 
you  do,  Ted,  and  you  know  it,  and  so  does  Ben- 
nie." 

"  Oh, — well — if  you  can  persuade  the  boy  to 
go,  maybe  I'll  think  of  it,"  Teddy  yielded,  but 
with  manifest  reluctance. 

Bryan  lost  no  time.  He  assured  Bennie  that 
Marston  must  get  away  from  the  city.  He 
had  always  been  used  to  spending  the  hot  season 
by  the  sea  or  in  the  mountains,  but  he  would  go 
now  only  on  condition  that  Bennie  should  go  with 
him.  Bennie  pleaded  to  stay  and  help,  but 
Bryan's  stronger  will  triumphed,  and  Marston 
finally  carried  the  boy  off  for  a  canoeing  trip 
among  the  lakes  of  Maine. 

Bryan  missed  the  two  greatly,  but  he  was  too 
busy  to  be  lonely.  The  old  club  in  charge  of 
Jack  Finney  made  large  demands  on  his  evenings 


TOMMY  O'BRIEN  125 

and  Sundays,  and  his  days  at  the  shop  were  full 
of  work  and  of  interest.  A  dozen  boys  now  came 
for  regular  work,  and  many  others  came  more  or 
less  frequently.  Mack  and  Jim  had  begun  to 
frequent  the  shop,  though  still  in  the  spirit  of 
rivalry.  Neither  had  any  marked  ability,  but 
they  had  the  usual  boyish  liking  for  using  tools 
and  making  things,  and  though  neither  would 
acknowledge  it  even  to  himself — they  were  both 
growing  to  like  Bryan.  Besides  Jim  remem- 
bered that  supper  he  had  shared.  He  had  never 
boasted  of  that  to  Mack  for  fear  that  the  latter 
might  be  equally  favoured.  Also  Jim  had  not 
forgotten  what  Bryan  had  said  about  the  "  good 
times  "  for  boys  that  were  to  come.  He  was  not 
yet  sure,  but  he  was  beginning  to  think  that  he 
might,  just  possibly,  like  to  have  a  share  in  those 
good  times.  Tony  Trudo's  progress  had  sur- 
passed Bryan's  largest  expectations.  Already 
the  boy  was  doing  good  work,  and  Bryan  was 
planning  to  put  him  in  charge  of  the  next  begin- 
ners. The  trouble  was  in  the  boy's  selfishness 
and  his  violent  temper.  All  his  life  he  had  been 
hectored  and  tormented.  Among  his  rough  com- 
rades of  the  street,  his  lameness  had  aroused 
neither  pity  nor  sympathy — only  derision  and 
cruelty.  He  hated  his  strong,  healthy  tormentors 
— hated  them  one  and  all  with  a  vindictive  bitter- 
ness which  continually  cropped  out  in  his  speech, 
as  he  grew  more  at  ease  with  Bryan. 

Bryan  pondered  long  over  Tony,  and  one  night 
he  told  Mrs.  Knowles  about  him. 


126  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  There's  only  one  way,"  she  said.  "  You've 
got  to  interest  him  somehow  in  somebody  else." 

"  Yes,"  Bryan  agreed  thoughtfully,  as  Duffer 
scrambled  up  and  stretched  himself  over  his 
knees,  "  that's  what  I've  been  thinking.  Who 
was  it  that  said  '  No  one  can  do  a  noble  deed 
without  ennobling  himself  at  the  same  time '  ? 
But  the  trouble  is  to  get  Tony  to  do  anything  of 
the  sort.  He  seems  to  be  as  absolutely  selfish  as 
any  boy  I  ever  came  across.  Poor  chap — I  sup- 
pose nobody  has  ever  been  kind  and  unselfish  to 
him." 

"  Doesn't  he  show  any  appreciation  of  what 
you've  done  for  him,  Theo?"  Mrs.  Knowles 
had  long  since  dropped  the  formal  mister. 

"No,  and  in  fact  I  don't  feel  that  I  have 
done  much  for  him.  If  he  stays  on,  he'll  soon 
pay  his  way  in  the  shop,  you  know." 

"  I  was  wondering  if  you  couldn't  interest  him 
in  that  young  man  you  were  telling  me  about — 
What  is  his  name  now? — the  one  at  the  Incu- 
rables." 

"  Oh,  you  mean  Tommy."  Bryan's  face 
lighted  up.  "  I  wonder  if  I  could.  Tommy  has 
had  a  harder  time  than  Tony — far.  Thank  you 
for  the  suggestion.  I'll  think  it  over,  Mrs. 
Knowles." 

So  it  came  about  that  one  day  Bryan  asked 
Tony  to  go  with  him  to  the  hospital.  He  ex- 
plained that  he  had  there  a  friend  for  whom  he 
wanted  a  bookrack  made — a  frame  to  hold  a 
book  so  that  the  reader  could  read  easily  lying 


TOMMY  O'BRIEN  127 

down.  Tony  at  first  refused  point-blank  to  go; 
but  when  he  learned  that  Bryan's  friend  was  a 
cripple  who  could  not  walk  even  with  a  crutch, 
he  began  to  manifest  a  tepid  interest,  and  finally 
consented  to  see  him.  Bryan  had  little  hope  of 
accomplishing  anything  by  the  visit,  but  felt  that 
it  was  worth  a  trial. 

At  the  door  of  the  hospital,  however,  Tony 
balked.  "  I  ain't  a-goin'  in  that  place,"  he  de- 
clared, glowering  suspiciously  at  the  big  building. 

"  Just  as  you  like,  Tony,"  Bryan  returned. 
"  If  you  aren't  willing  to  help  me  out  on  that 
bookrack,  go  along  back.  I'll  find  some  other 
boy  to  do  it — somebody  that  I  can  trust." 

Without  another  word,  or  even  a  backward 
glance,  he  passed  in,  and  before  the  great  door 
swung  behind  him  Tony  had  slipped  through 
after  him. 

Tommy's  welcome  was  worth  seeing.  His  thin 
white  face,  lined  with  years  of  suffering,  flashed 
a  very  radiance  of  delight  as  he  caught  sight  of 
Bryan. 

"  Oh,  but  it's  fine  to  see  you.  Sit-down,  sit 
down ! "  he  cried  out,  pointing  to  the  chair  close 
beside  his  cot,  and  then  his  long,  bony  fingers 
closed  over  Bryan's  in  a  warm  grip  that  said 
even  more  than  his  words.  So  utterly  absorbed 
he  was  in  his  friend  that  he  did  not  notice  his 
companion,  and  Tony,  sliding  into  another  chair, 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  looked  and  listened  in 
silence — looked  at  the  small  figure  outlined  under 
the  coverings — a  figure  no  larger  than  that  of  a 


128  THEODORE  BRYAN 

boy  of  twelve — looked  at  the  worn  face  where 
even  his  untrained,  unsympathetic  eyes  could 
read  the  story  of  a  lifetime  of  suffering — at  the 
eyes,  weary,  yet  full  of  a  great  peace,  and  just 
now  shining  with  infinite  content  and  happiness. 
He  listened  to  Tommy's  eager  questions  about 
this  boy  and  that  at  the  club — he  seemed  to  be 
interested  in  everything  that  concerned  them  all, 
and  then  suddenly  Tony  sat  bolt  upright,  his  eyes 
widening  in  amazement,  for  what  was  this  that 
Tommy  was  saying? 

"  Now  tell  me  about  that  Tony  Trudo.  I  like 
Tony  best  of  all  the  Sabin  Street  boys,  'cause  you 
know,  he's  a  little  bit  like  me — only  not  anything 
like  so  bad.  I  know  how  he  feels,  though.  He 
jest  hates  bein'  lame,  an'  havin'  to  limp  an'  creep 
when  the  other  fellows  run  an'  jump.  He's 
made  himself  a  fine  new  crutch — you  'member 
you  told  me  that  last  time  you  was  here — an'  now 
he's  learnin'  to  make  furniture."  Tommy's  voice 
changed :  "  He  won't  have  to  stay  in  bed  all  his 
life  as  I  have,  Tony  won't — lucky  Tony.  Say, 
Theo,  d'ye  think  he'd  come  an'  see  me  some  day 
if  you  should  ask  him  to?  I'd  like  to  see  him. 
I'd  like  to  see  all  the  boys,  but  I  know  they  don't 
want  to  come  here  and  see  me.  /  ain't  no  good 
to  anybody,  ye  know." 

"Yes,  you  are,  Tommy.  You're  one  of  my 
best  friends — true  as  steel  you  are,"  was  Bryan's 
quick  reply. 

Tommy's  face  brightened — his  eyes  fairly 
shone.  "  Am  I  that,  truly — a  real  friend  that 


TOMMY  O'BRIEN  129 

you  care  about  a  little  bit,  you  know  ?  "  he  asked 
with  a  longing  sigh. 

"Yes,  indeed,  you  are  that,"  Bryan  assured 
him  earnestly,  "  and,  Tommy,  you  know  I've  told 
you  and  read  you  a  great  many  stories  about 
brave  men — heroes.  You  remember  some  of 
them,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  child-man  slowly, "  I  remember 
some  of  'em,  Theo.  I  think  of  'em  nights, 
don't  you  know,  when  I  ache  so  I  can't  sleep,  an' 
I  know  there's  nobody  to  care  whether  I  ache  or 
not.  I  think  of  the  hero-men  then,  and  oh, 
Theo,  I  do  so  wish  I  could  have  been  one !  "  A 
great  sadness  dimmed  the  shine  in  his  eyes  now. 

Bryan's  eyes  filled  as  he  leaned  over  the  poor 
fellow,  speaking  earnestly.  "  Tommy,  let  me  tell 
you  something.  You  are  a  hero — truly  you  are. 
You  bear  your  aches  and  pains  and  your  lonely 
shut-in  life  as  bravely  as  any  soldier  ever  met 
death  in  battle.  You  never  whine  or  complain, 
and  you  never  envy  those  who  have  so  much 
more  than  you  have.  That  is  being  a  real  hero, 
Tommy." 

The  pale  blue  eyes  looking  earnestly  into  his 
face  widened  in  joyful  wonder  as  Bryan  spoke. 
Then  Tommy  said  in  a  whisper,  "  Me — little 
crooked  Tommy  O'Brien,  a  hero!  Theo,  I — I 
guess  there's  some  mistake  about  it.  You're 
jest  sayin'  it  to — to  please  me,  ain't  you?"  he 
ended  wistfully. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it— it's  true,  Tommy.  Get  all 
the  comfort  out  of  it  you  can,"  returned  Bryan. 


130  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  And  now  " — he  feared  that  Tommy  was  getting 
too  much  excited,  and  went  on  quietly — "  I 
brought  a  new  friend  to  visit  you  to-day.  You 
didn't  see  him  come  in  behind  me,  did  you  ? — but 
he's  been  here  all  the  time.  Guess  now,  Tommy, 
who  this  is." 

Tommy  stared  wonderingly  as  Bryan  pointed 
to  Tony,  half  hidden  at  the  foot  of  the  cot.  He 
lifted  himself  on  his  elbow  and  looked  doubtfully 
at  the  boy  until  he  caught  sight  of  the  crutch. 
Then  he  gave  a  weak,  boyish  shout. 

"  Oh,  it's  Tony — it's  Tony  Trudo,  ain't  it, 
Theo  ?  Say,  is  it  Tony  ?  "  Then  as  Theo  nodded, 
Tommy  called  out,  "  Come  up  here,  Tony,  an' 
shake  hands.  I  like  you,  you  know,  already. 
Twas  mighty  good  of  you  to  come  an'  see  me, 
jest  mighty  good !  " 

Speechless  and  embarrassed  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  Tony  limped  forward  and  let  his 
brown  hand  lie  in  Tommy's  scrawny  fingers. 
Something  was  happening  to  Tony.  What  it 
was  he  could  not  imagine,  but  somewhere  inside 
of  him  he  was  conscious  of  a  strange  warm 
feeling  that  he  had  never  had  before.  How 
could  he  know  that  it  was  the  first  stirring  of  the 
soul  that  had  never  before  had  a  chance  to  grow  ? 
Not  one  word  did  Tony  say,  but  he  looked  at 
Tommy  and  Tommy  looked  at  him,  and  something 
passed  from  one  to  the  other — something  that 
made  them  friends. 

"Will  you  come  again,  Tony,  some  time?" 
Tommy  urged,  as  Bryan  rose. 


TOMMY  O'BRIEN  131 

"  You  bet,"  muttered  Tony.  The  words  might 
have  been  better  chosen,  but  Tommy  did  not 
mind  the  words — he  understood. 

And  Bryan,  reading  both  faces,  went  home 
with  a  glad  heart.  Tony  had  taken  the  second 
step.  Soon  he  would  surely  do  the  good  deed 
that  would  ennoble  him,  and  by-and-by,  in 
Tony's  soul,  the  great  Image  would  begin  to 
shine  forth.  So  Bryan  believed. 

In  September,  Marston  and  Bennie  Hoyt  came 
back,  brown  and  vigorous  after  their  weeks  of 
outdoor  living.  Bennie  was  warmly  enthusi- 
astic over  the  trip,  and  he  and  Ted  were  plainly 
very  good  friends. 

The  day  after  their  return  a  chill  northeast 
storm  swept  the  city,  and  in  the  evening  Bryan 
lighted  a  fire  in  the  old  fireplace,  and  the  three 
friends  gathered  about  it  and  talked  far  into  the 
night.  At  first  Bryan  was  the  listener,  full  of 
interest  in  all  that  the  others  had  seen  and  done ; 
but  later  Teddy  began  to  ask  questions. 

"  You  sure  were  an  aggravating  correspondent, 
Bryan,"  he  grumbled,  "  writing  such  bits  of  let- 
ters, and  never  telling  us  half  the  things  we 
wanted  to  know.  How  about  Tony?  Has  he 
brought  back  that  hammer  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  but  I  have  faith  that  he  will  soon. 
Tony  is  growing,  Ted.  I  have  great  hopes  of 
him."  He  told  of  the  boy's  first  visit  to  Tommy 
O'Brien.  "  Now  the  two  are  great  friends,"  he 
went  on,  "and  I  don't  know  which  enjoys  the 
friendship  most.  So  far  as  I  can  find  out,  Tony 


132  THEODORE  BRYAN 

never  before  had  a  friend — think  of  it !  He  has 
made  Tommy  a  beautiful  bookrack  that  is  such 
a  comfort  to  him.  I  suppose  that  is  the  first 
thing  Tony  ever  did  for  any  one  else,  of  his  own 
accord." 

"  Fine !  "  commented  Ted.  "  And  the  black- 
browed  Jim  ?  " 

"  Well "  Bryan  was  not  so  enthusiastic 

about  Jim.  "  He  is  getting  on  a  bit,"  he  de- 
clared, "  he  and  Mack,  both.  Of  course  they 
don't  take  to  the  work  at  the  shop  as  Tony  does — 
it  isn't  in  them  to— but  they  like  working  with 
the  tools,  and  I've  kept  them  at  it  by  setting  one 
against  the  other.  Mack  can  do  better  work 
than  Jim,  but  he's  lazy;  while  Jim  hasn't  a  lazy 
bone  in  his  body.  So  I  manage  to  keep  one  a  bit 
ahead  of  the  other  most  of  the  time,  and  that 
spurs  them  on.  I  haven't  yet  found  the  soft  spot 
in  the  heart  of  either  of  them,  but  I  shall  in  time. 
I've  ten  other  boys  coming  here  now  regularly 
and  making  fairly  good  progress — Sabin  Street 
boys,  I  mean,  and  a  dozen  from  the  old  club  have 
started  in  this  month.  Some  of  them  want  to 
do  the  ironwork,  Ted.  Do  you  want  to  teach 
them,  or  are  you  ready  now  to  go  back  to  New 
York  and  business  ?  " 

Teddy  looked  thoughtfully  into  the  glowing  fire 
for  a  long  moment  before  he  answered  slowly: 
"  I'm  going  to  stay  on  here  a  while  longer — till 
the  end  of  the  year  anyhow,  Bryan.  After  that 
— well,  we'll  see." 

"  The  longer  you  stay  the  better  I  shall  like  it, 


TOMMY  O'BRIEN  133 

you  know  that,"  Bryan  returned.  "Ted,  those 
boys  at  the  club  are  going  ahead  fast.  What  do 
you  think  they  did  last  month  ?  " 

"  What  ?  "  questioned  Marston  and  Bennie  to- 
gether. 

"  Closed  up  Quinn's  saloon.  It  was  their  own 
notion,  too.  It  was  a  bad  place,  that  saloon. 
Quinn  wasn't  content  to  get  in  the  men,  he  was 
forever  after  the  boys,  but  he  overreached  him- 
self, at  last.  He  coaxed  in  Johnny  Dobbs.  I 
think  you  don't  know  Johnny,  Ted,  but  Bennie 
and  I  do.  He's  a  poor  little  hollow-chested, 
under-sized  chap ;  looks  as  if  he'd  never  had  half 
enough  to  eat.  He  isn't  real  bright,  and  he's 
weak  in  every  way " 

"  Theo's  been  boosting  him  up  for  years,  you 
know,"  Bennie  put  in,  "  but  he  doesn't  tell  you 
that." 

"  Well,"  Bryan  went  on,  "  he's  a  weak  brother 
— that's  all  there  is  about  it.  The  boys  used  to 
torment  the  life  almost  out  of  him,  and  get  him 
drunk  and  into  every  kind  of  mischief — for 
sport!  But  they're  getting  a  different  idea  of 
sport  now,  some  of  the  older  ones — and  they're 
beginning  to  feel  that  they  have  some  responsi- 
bility in  regard  to  Johnny.  And  so  when  Quinn 
toled  him  into  his  spiderweb  and  filled  him  up 
with  vile  whiskey,  our  boys  were  up  in  arms 
about  it.  They  came  to  me,  a  dozen  or  so  of 
them,  to  ask  how  they  could  clear  Quinn  out  of 
the  neighbourhood ;  and  I  told  them  to  get  all  the 
men  in  the  neighbourhood  to  back  them  up. 


134  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Quinn  isn't  popular  over  there,  and  there  are 
plenty  of  other  saloons.  Well,  those  boys  set 
to  work,  and  at  first  their  fathers  and  the  other 
men  just  laughed  at  them.  As  it  happened,  that 
was  the  best  thing  they  could  have  done ;  it  made 
the  boys  mad,  and  put  them  on  their  mettle. 
They  wouldn't  give  the  thing  up.  They  kept 
talking  and  urging  till  the  men,  seeing  what  it 
meant  to  the  boys,  and  maybe  tired  of  all  the  talk 
about  it,  began  to  give  in ;  and  do  you  know  " — 
Bryan's  eyes  were  alight  with  pride  in  his  boys — 
"  they  finally  got  so  many  of  the  men  pledged  to 
boycott  Quinn,  that  he  actually  had  to  close  up 
and  clear  out." 

"  Good  for  the  boys !  "  cried  Teddy. 

"  That's  exactly  it — it  is  good  for  the  boys,  the 
boys  who  did  it,  I  mean — not  only  for  weaklings 
like  poor  Johnny.  But  those  boys  learned  a 
mighty  important  lesson,  Ted.  They  learned 
what  they  can  do  when  they  work  together  in 
dead  earnest.  Oh,  that  will  mean  a  lot  to  those 
fellows.  It  will  go  a  long  way  towards  making 
them  public-spirited  citizens  a  few  years  from 
this  time." 

"  It  will  be  some  time  yet,  I'm  afraid,  before 
you  make  '  public-spirited  citizens '  out  of  this 
Sabin  Street  gang,"  was  Teddy's  faithless 
response.  "  You  may  get  Black  Jim  and  Mack 
to  making  chairs  and  tables,  possibly,  but  you 
won't  get  them  to  building  character  to  any  great 
extent — not  yet  awhile,  my  friend." 

"  Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  that,"  Bryan  an- 


TOMMY  O'BRIEN  135 

swered  quickly.  "  The  Image  is  there,  Ted — I 
won't  let  myself  forget  that."  To  which  Marston 
answered  only  by  a  shake  of  the  head. 

"  And  Mother  Knowles,  what  has  she  been 
doing?"  he  questioned. 

"  In  the  first  place  she  has  filled  her  empty 
rooms.  She  has  two  sisters — shop-girls — on  one 
side,  and  an  old  woman  and  a  child  on  the  other. 
And — she  gives  a  tea  once  a  week." 

"  A  tea! "  Marston's  face  expressed  astonish- 
ment not  unmixed  with  dismay  as  a  vision  of  the 
afternoon  teas  of  his  world  flashed  before  his 
mind. 

"  Oh,  not  your  kind,"  Bryan  reassured  him. 
"  She  limits  her  invitations  to  six  women,  but 
each  is  privileged  to  bring  one  friend  and  one 
baby,  and  she  gives  them  sandwiches,  cakes,  and 
tea." 

"  She'd  better  teach  them  to  cook.  It  might 
help  to  keep  their  men  out  of  the  saloons." 

"  She  is  doing  just  that,  but  not  in  classes. 
She  has  a  cooking-class  for  the  girls,  but  she 
manages  the  mothers  differently.  She  invites 
one  of  her  Sabin  Street  neighbours  each  week  to 
spend  a  night  with  her,  coming  to  supper  and 
staying  to  breakfast.  You  can  imagine  what  a 
revelation — and  object  lesson — it  is  to  those  poor 
creatures." 

"  I  should  say  so,"  was  Marston's  thoughtful 
response. 

Bryan  went  on.  "If  she  stays  here  five  years 
you  won't  know  the  place.  And  only  think 


136  THEODORE  BRYAN 

what  those  five  years  will  mean  to  the  girls 
growing  up  here !  " 

"  And  what  those  same  five  years  will  mean 
to  the  boys  you  are  getting  hold  of,"  Marston 
added.  "  It  makes  a  fellow  realise  what  he 
might  do  with  his  life,"  he  added  gravely. 

"  Yes,"  assented  Bryan,  "  five  years  will  make 
men  of  Jim  and  Mack  and  some  of  the  others. 
Ted  " — he  turned  a  glowing  face  to  his  friend — 
"  isn't  it  a  splendid  thing  to  help  even  a  little  in 
making  men  ?  " 

In  the  firelight,  Bennie's  delicate  face  reflected 
the  glow  on  Bryan's  as,  in  the  silence  of  his  own 
soul,  he  rededicated  his  life  to  this  same  high 
service.  But  there  was  other  work  for  him  first, 
and  soon  he  was  back  at  college  doing  his  best  to 
make  the  record  that  Nan  and  Bryan  expected 
him  to  make. 


IX 

MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS 

BY  this  time  Green  Tree  House  had  become 
the  centre  of  interest  for  Sabin  Street; 
nor  was  the  interest  confined  to  that 
street.  It  radiated  in  many  directions  as  the 
boys  and  girls  carried  abroad  the  story  of  their 
doings — of  their  work  and  play,  and  the  delight- 
ful plans  for  things  yet  to  be.  As  to  Mrs. 
Knowles — she  had  taken  kindly  to  the  name  the 
children  gave  her,  and  loved  best  to  be  called 
"  Mother  "  Knowles — she  was  now  one  of  the 
busiest  and  happiest  women  in  all  that  city. 
There  were  no  lonely  days  for  her,  and  her  life 
was  rich  in  human  interest  and  love. 

One  morning  she  was  putting  in  water  some 
roses  that  Marston  had  brought  her,  when  she 
heard  a  faint  rapping  on  her  outer  door.  When 
she  opened  it,  a  girl  of  ten  or  eleven  looked  up  at 
her  with  round,  half-frightened  eyes. 

"  Why,  Annie,  was  it  you  knocking  ? "  she 
said.  "  Why  didn't  you  ring  the  bell  ?  " 

"  I  dassn't,"  Annie  murmured,  her  head  droop- 
ing shyly. 

Shyness  was  by  no  means  a  characteristic  of 
most  of  the  Sabin  Street  children,  and  Mrs. 
137 


138  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Knowles  found  it  rather  refreshing.  She  took 
the  child's  little  limp  hand,  drew  her  in,  and  seat- 
ing her  by  the  window,  brought  out  some  cookies. 

"  There,  dear,  eat  just  as  many  as  you  like," 
she  said. 

At  first  Annie  dumbly  shook  her  head,  winding 
her  skinny  little  legs  around  the  legs  of  her  chair 
in  painful  embarrassment ;  but  as  Mrs.  Knowles, 
leaving  her  alone,  went  on  with  some  sewing  she 
had  taken  up,  the  spicy  cakes  proved  too  tempt- 
ing, and  after  a  little,  one  disappeared  and  then 
another;  but  though  she  eyed  the  others  long- 
ingly, Annie  left  them  untouched. 

Finally  Mrs.  Knowles  put  down  her  work  and 
took  the  child  on  her  lap. 

"  Now,  dear,"  she  coaxed,  "  tell  me  what  you 
came  for.  Was  it  just  to  see  me  ?  " 

Annie's  straw-coloured  head  was  shaken  in 
solemn  silence. 

"  Now  look  at  Duffer — he's  jealous  because 
I'm  holding  you,"  Mrs.  Knowles  laughed,  as  Duf- 
fer put  his  paws  on  her  knee  and  sniffed  dis- 
dainfully and  disapprovingly  at  the  thin  little 
legs,  in  rusty  black  stockings  adorned  with 
several  holes. 

Annie  smiled  at  Duffer,  and  patted  his  rough 
head  gingerly  with  one  finger,  at  which  he  sud- 
denly relented,  and  gave  the  finger  one  swift 
touch  with  his  little  pink  tongue,  in  token  of 
friendliness. 

"  What  did  you  come  for,  dear  ? "  Mrs. 
Knowles  asked  again. 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         139 

Then  Annie  took  her  courage  in  both  hands 
and  spoke  almost  in  a  whisper,  her  eyes  anxiously 
searching  the  motherly  face  looking  down  at 
her. 

"  I  came — for  mother." 

Mrs.  Knowles  looked  at  her  uncomprehending. 
"  Do  you  mean  that  you  thought  your  mother  was 
here?" 

Again  the  pale  yellow  head  was  shaken  vio- 
lently, and  the  child  tried  to  explain.  "  You  had 
Maggie  Hagan's  mother  here  all  night.  I  want 
my  mother  to  come  too.  My  mother  don't 
ever  go  anywhere  and — and  father  knocked  her 
down  last  night,  an'  he  says  he's  goin'  to  again, 
when  he  comes  back.  Can't  she  come  here,  to- 
night ?  "  The  blue  eyes  were  swimming  in  tears, 
but  now  Annie  had  forgotten  to  be  shy  in  her 
eagerness  to  secure  this  great  privilege  for  her 
mother. 

"  Yes,  child,  yes,  surely  she  can  come,"  was 
the  instant  response.  "  Did  she  send  you  to  ask 
if  she  could?" 

"  No — no!  She  was  asleep.  She  didn't  know 
I  came,"  the  child  cried  quickly. 

"  Maybe  then  she  won't  want  to  come  to- 
night," Mrs.  Knowles  suggested. 

"  I  guess  she  will  if — if  you  tell  her  to  bring 
me."  In  the  sober,  anxious  little  face,  full  of 
earnest  pleading,  there  was  plainly  no  selfish  pur- 
pose. It  was  "  mother  "  Annie  was  thinking  of 
— not  herself. 

"  Have  you  any  brothers  or  sisters,  Annie  ?  " 


140  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Another  silent  shake  of  the  head  answered 
that. 

"  Does  your  father  work?  " 

"  Sometimes.  Sometimes  mother  does.  She 
washes  an'  scrubs." 

"  Well,  you  go  home,  Annie,  and  tell  your 
mother  that  I  want  her  to  come  to  supper  with" 
me  and  to  stay  all  night,  same  as  Maggie's  mother 
did." 

The  child's  face  brightened  into  radiant  joy. 
She  slipped  instantly  to  the  floor,  fairly  trembling 
with  eagerness  to  be  gone  with  her  longed-for  in- 
vitation. 

"Tell  her  to  come  before  six  o'clock  if  she 
can,"  Mrs.  Knowles  called  after  the  little  figure 
already  halfway  through  the  hall. 

"  I  wonder  now  if  she  will  come ;  maybe  that 
brute  who  knocked  her  down  won't  let  her,"  the 
good  woman  mused,  as  she  looked  through  her 
stock  of  "  lending "  garments  for  fresh  night- 
clothes.  She  did  not  much  expect  that  the 
woman  would  come — certainly  not,  if  she  were 
shy  and  timid  like  her  child,  but  at  half-past  five 
the  two  appeared.  Annie  wore  the  same  old 
dress  she  had  worn  in  the  morning,  but  it  had 
been  washed  after  a  fashion,  and  ironed,  and  a 
big  rent  in  the  skirt  had  been  gobbled  up  with  a 
few  hasty,  unskilful  stitches.  Annie  was  like 
another  child.  In  her  intense  concern  for  her 
mother,  she  quite  forgot  to  be  shy. 

The  mother,  a  little  wisp  of  a  woman,  with 
pale  blue  eyes,  and  pale  yellowish  hair,  and  col- 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         141 

ourless  skin,  had  a  general  washed-out  effect.  A 
dark  bruise  on  one  side  of  her  face  proved  the 
truth  of  Annie's  statement  as  to  her  father. 

"  She  said — the  child  said — you  said  for  us  to 

come "  The  woman  stumbled  over  the 

words  as  she  hesitated  on  the  doorstep,  but  Mrs. 
Knowles  met  her  with  warm  cordiality. 

"  Come  right  in,  come  right  in,"  she  said,  and 
quickly  had  her  seated  in  a  comfortable  rocking- 
chair,  with  her  feet,  in  their  run-over  shoes,  rest- 
ing on  a  footstool. 

"  Supper's  all  ready,  except  the  tea.  I'll 
make  that  as  soon  as  the  kettle  boils,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  went  on,  turning  towards  the  kitchen. 
"You  just  sit  there  and  rest." 

"  It's  so  good  to  sit  an'  rest  in  this  nice  chair," 
the  woman  sighed  as  she  leaned  her  head  against 
the  high  back. 

Presently  Mrs.  Knowles  brought  in  the  tea  and 
the  three  gathered  about  the  table  which  was 
as  immaculately  fresh  and  dainty  in  its  appoint- 
ments as  it  would  have  been  for  any  other  guests. 
The  child's  eyes  widened  with  wonder  and  delight 
as  she  looked  across  it. 

"  Ain't  the  flowers  pretty,  mother  ? "  she 
whispered  under  her  breath. 

The  mother  nodded ;  her  pleasure  was  alloyed 
with  fear  lest  she  or  the  child  get  a  spot  on  the 
beautiful  white  cloth ;  but  as  her  hostess  supplied 
her  with  the  scallopped  oysters  and  fresh  rolls, 
sliced  peaches  and  tea,  talking  the  while  in  her 
easy  comfortable  fashion,  Mrs.  Neal  gradually 


142  THEODORE  BRYAN 

lost  her  painful  self-consciousness,  and  heartily 
enjoyed  the  good  things  provided  for  her.  As 
for  Annie,  half  the  time  she  forgot  to  eat,  as  with 
happy  eyes  she  watched  her  mother. 

After  supper,  Annie  silently  followed  Mrs. 
Knowles  from  kitchen  to  pantry,  her  wonder 
growing  at  all  the  marvellous  things  she  saw. 

"  The  kitchen  is  nicer'n  this  room.  It's  all  blue 
an'  white,"  she  whispered  in  her  mother's  ear, 
"  an'  so  clean !  I  never  see  anything  so  clean." 

"  Please'm,  couldn't  I  do  up  the  dishes  for  you  ? 
I'd  like  to,"  Mrs.  Neal  said,  appearing  at  the 
kitchen  door,  and  gazing  around  as  admiringly  as 
the  child  had  done. 

Mrs.  Knowles  smiled  a  welcome  as  she  turned 
the  hot  water  into  the  dishpan.  "  I'll  wash  and 
you  can  wipe  then,"  she  said  easily. 

"  Ain't  it  pretty,  mother  ?  "  Annie  whispered 
again. 

"  I  didn't  s'pose  there  was  any  such  kitchen 
as  this — an'  on  Sabin  Street,  too,"  Mrs.  Neal 
said,  looking  about  at  the  white  enamelled  walls, 
the  blue  tiling  around  the  porcelain  sink,  the  gas 
range  with  its  shining  handles,  and  the  pretty 
corner  closets  full  of  dishes  and  cooking  utensils. 
"  It'd  be  easy  to  keep  this  clean,"  she  added, 
"  with  all  the  soap  an'  water  you  want.  I  have  to 
bring  all  my  water  up  three  pairs  of  stairs,  an' 
there  ain't  any  sink  in  my  kitchen." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  shouldn't  use  as  much  as  I  ought 
if  I  had  to  do  that,"  Mrs.  Knowles  returned,  as 
she  poured  the  hot  rinsing  water  over  the  china 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         143 

she  had  washed.  "You'll  find  clean  wiping- 
towels  in  that  top  drawer,"  she  added. 

Mrs.  Neal  opened  the  drawer  indicated,  then 
turned  doubtfully  to  ask,  "  You  don't  mean  these 
nice  white  ones  ?  " 

"Why,  yes,"  Mrs.  Knowles  laughed,  "take 
two  of  them." 

With  an  awe-struck  expression  the  woman  un- 
folded one  of  the  towels  and  began  to  wipe  the 
hot  cups.  "  A  towel — a  real  nice  linen  towel — 
jest  to  wipe  the  dishes  with !  "  she  was  saying  to 
herself.  Any  old  rag  answered  the  purpose  in 
her  kitchen. 

Annie  hovered  delightedly  about,  watching 
"  mother "  wipe  the  dishes  with  that  beautiful 
white  cloth.  She  was  quite  sure  that  Maggie 
Hagan's  mother  had  not  been  allowed  to  wipe 
any  of  Mrs.  Knowles'  pretty  dishes.  Mrs.  Neal 
wiped  slowly  and  very  carefully.  It  was  so  dif- 
ferent, this,  from  the  dish-washing  and  wiping 
that  she  was  used  to.  This  was  the  embroidery 
of  kitchen  service — it  was  play,  not  work. 

When  the  dishes  were  all  put  away  and  the 
white  sink  as  clean  as  the  dishes,  Mrs.  Neal 
actually  sighed,  wishing  there  were  more  to  do; 
besides,  it  must  be  confessed  that  she  dreaded  a 
little — just  a  little — the  evening  to  follow.  It 
was  all  so  new  and  strange  to  her — she  was  so 
fearful  that  she  should  not  "  measure  up  "  to  the 
expectations  of  her  hostess. 

But  she  need  not  have  had  any  such  fears. 
There  was  a  fireplace  in  the  living-room,  and 


144  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Mrs.  Knowles  kindled  a  fire  there — or  rather  she 
made  Annie  proud  and  happy  by  letting  her  touch 
a  match  to  the  kindlings,  and  then  she  brought 
out  some  picture  books  and  a  big  doll  and  its 
cradle. 

"  There,  little  girlie,  you  can  look  at  the  books 
if  you  want  to,  or  you  can  undress  Polly  Ann, 
and  put  on  her  nightie  and  rock  her  to  sleep,"  she 
said,  and  Annie,  utterly  ignoring  the  pictures, 
was  instantly  absorbed  in  Polly  Ann  and  her 
fascinating  clothes  that  had  real  buttons  and  but- 
ton-holes, and  didn't  have  to  be  pinned  or  tied  on, 
as  Annie's  usually  were. 

Mrs.  Knowles  was  making  a  braided  rug  out  of 
outing  flannel  in  three  shades  of  blue. 

"  If  you  want  to  help  a  little,"  she  told  her 
guest,  "  you  can  tear  that  piece  of  flannel  into 
strips.  I've  started  the  strips  the  right  width  at 
that  end;  but,  if  you  are  tired,  you  just  sit  still 
and  rest.  You  look  as  if  you  needed  a  good  long 
rest." 

The  tears  welled  up  suddenly  into  the  faded 
blue  eyes  at  the  unexpected  words  of  sympathy, 
but  the  woman  picked  up  the  cloth  and  scissors. 

"  It's  a  rest  to  do  anything  in  a  place  like  this," 
she  said.  "  I  guess  heaven  ain't  any  nicer." 

"  You  poor  soul !  "  Mrs.  Knowles  reached 
over  and  laid  her  plump  hand  over  one  of  the 
rough  red  ones  with  its  broken  nails.  "  I  guess 
life  has  been  pretty  hard  for  you;  but  you're 
young  still,  and  we'll  hope  there  are  good  days 
yet  to  come  for  you,  and  many  of  them." 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         145 

The  woman,  her  lips  quivering,  shook  her  head 
in  silence ;  and  seeing  the  child  anxiously  watch- 
ing her  mother's  face,  Mrs.  Knowles  changed  the 
subject  and  began  telling  some  funny  stories  that 
made  Annie  laugh  and  the  mother's  hopeless 
face  brighten  a  little. 

But  to  the  guests,  even  the  supper  and  the  won- 
derful blue  and  white  kitchen,  and  the  open  fire, 
paled  before  the  delightful  experience  that  fol- 
lowed when,  at  bedtime,  Mrs.  Knowles  took 
them  into  such  a  bedroom  as  they  had  never  seen 
or  imagined  before.  There  was  a  pale  gold 
satin-striped  paper  on  the  walls,  and  a  hard-wood 
floor,  but  all  the  rest  was  white — the  bedstead  of 
white  enamel,  with  bedding  all  of  white,  and  as 
fresh  as  if  that  moment  put  on.  Even  the  chairs 
and  bureau  were  finished  in  white  enamel,  and 
the  linen  cover  on  the  bureau-top  was  freshly 
laundered.  A  large  thick  rug  in  soft-wood  tints 
vith  touches  of  pink  and  green,  covering  the 
centre  of  the  room,  gave  the  warm  homelike 
touch  needed  where  all  else  was  colourless,  ex- 
cept a  few  pink  blossoms  in  a  glass  vase  on  the 
bureau,  reflected  from  the  mirror  behind  them. 

Mrs.  Neal,  following  her  hostess  into  this  room, 
stopped  short  just  inside  the  door,  her  face  full 
of  dismay  and  distress. 

"  Oh,  ma'am,  I  can't  ever  sleep  here — I  can't 
really !  "  she  cried  out. 

"  But  why  ?  It  is  warm  and  comfortable — the 
bed  is  very  comfortable,"  Mrs.  Knowles  urged, 
her  own  face  reflecting  the  trouble  in  her  guest's. 


146  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Oh,  yes,  it's  a  beautiful  bed.  It's  all  heavenly 

pretty — but,  ma'am "  she  twisted  her  thin 

fingers  nervously  together,  almost  crying  as  she 
spoke,  "  it's  too  nice  for  folks  like  us.  We — we 
ain't  nice  and — and  clean  enough  to  get  into  a 
bed  like  that."  Her  eyes  turned  from  the  white 
bed  to  the  dingy  brown  skirt  she  wore  and 
Annie's  half-washed  print  dress  with  the  edge  of 
an  unwashed  petticoat  hanging  below  it  at  the 
back. 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  Look  here !  "  Mrs.  Knowles 
flung  open  a  door,  revealing  a  bathroom  tiled  in 
blue  and  white,  with  a  porcelain  tub,  and  beside 
it  big  generous  towels  and  wash-cloths  and  a 
plentiful  supply  of  soap. 

"  There  is  hot  water  as  well  as  cold,"  she  said, 
"  and  you  and  Annie  can  both  have  a  warm  bath 
before  you  go  to  bed ;  then  you  will  feel  as  fresh 
and  clean  as  the  bed,  and  you  can't  think  how  it 
will  rest  you  and  make  you  sleep.  And  here,"  she 
opened  a  drawer  in  the  bureau,  "  I  keep  night- 
dresses here  for  the  friends  who  spend  the  night 
with  me.  There's  a  little  one  for  Annie.  Do 
you  have  to  get  home  early  in  the  morning  for 
your  husband's  breakfast?  " 

The  woman  shook  her  head.  "  He's  gone  off 
to  look  for  a  job — he  won't  be  home  to-morrow," 
she  answered  in  a  low  tone,  turning  her  face 
quickly  aside  to  hide  the  bruise  of  which  she  was 
reminded. 

"  Then  you  needn't  get  up  until  you  are  rested. 
I  have  my  breakfast  at  half-past  seven,  and  you 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         147 

can  have  yours  whenever  you  please.  Now  good- 
night, and  a  good  rest  to  you  both." 

"  And  the  same  to  you,  ma'am,  a  thousand 
times,"  the  woman  answered  fervently. 

As  the  door  closed  behind  Mrs.  Knowles,  An- 
nie caught  one  of  her  mother's  hands  and  hugged 
it  ecstatically.  "  Oh,  mummy !  "  she  cried,  "  did 
you  ever  see  such  a  nice  place — or  such  a  good 
lady?" 

"  I  guess  she's  about  the  best  God  ever  made," 
the  mother  answered  with  a  touch  of  reverence 
in  her  voice.  There  had  been  deaconesses  and 
"  friendly  visitors  "  in  her  poor  home  more  than 
once,  and  they  had  meant  kindly  she  was  sure, 
but  most  of  them  had  seemed  to  stand  above  her 
and  reach  down,  pulling  their  skirts  carefully 
around  them  lest  they  be  soiled,  but  this  woman 
— "  She  treats  us  like  we  was  her  own  folks — 
God  in  heaven,  bless  her !  "  she  muttered  in  a 
voice  choked  with  sobs. 

"  But,  mummy,  if  you  like  it,  what  makes  you 
cry  ?  "  the  child  demanded  uneasily ;  and  for  her 
sake  the  mother  answered  brightly. 

Then  such  a  glorious  time  as  they  had  in  that 
bathroom.  First  the  child ;  and  when  she  was  as 
clean  as  soap  and  water  could  make  her,  she  was 
robed  in  a  pretty  little  night-dress  with  lace  on 
neck  and  sleeves,  and  tucked  up  in  bed,  where  she 
lay,  wide-eyed  and  blissfully  happy — fingering 
the  lace  on  her  sleeves  to  be  sure  it  was  really 
there — till  she  fell  asleep.  It  was  long  before  her 
mother  joined  her.  Such  an  opportunity  was  far 


148  THEODORE  BRYAN 

too  good  to  be  lost,  so,  before  she  enjoyed  the 
luxury  of  a  bath  in  that  beautiful  tub,  she  did 
what  she  could  to  bring  the  child  at  least  into 
harmony  with  her  surroundings,  by  washing  out 
the  little  undergarments  she  had  taken  off,  and 
hanging  them  around  the  edge  of  the  tub  to  dry. 

"  It  won't  hurt  the  tub  none,  an'  they'll  be 
dry  come  morninV  she  said  to  herself,  "  an'  if 
they  be  a  bit  damp,  anyway  they'll  be  cleaner'n 
ever  they  were  yet — with  all  this  nice  water  an' 
soap  to  do  'em  with." 

Then  at  last,  refreshed  by  her  warm  bath,  and 
luxuriating  in  the  delicious  feeling  of  the  clean 
night-dress  faintly  suggesting  some  delicate 
fragrance,  she  slipped  away  into  the  land  of 
dreams,  where  dirt,  and  pinching  poverty,  and 
brutal  husbands  were  unknown. 

When  she  awoke  the  child  was  gone,  and  a 
little  clock  on  the  bureau  told  her  that  it  was 
seven  o'clock.  She  dressed  hurriedly,  and  went 
across  to  the  living-room,  where  she  heard  Annie 
chattering  to  Mrs.  Knowles,  who  called  out  a 
cheery  good-morning  as  she  appeared. 

"Annie  is  helping  me  get  breakfast,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  said.  "  It  is  almost  ready  now." 

"  I  boiled  the  eggs  all  my  own  self,  mummy — 
didn't  I?"  the  child  appealed  to  Mrs.  Knowles, 
her  face  flushed  with  eagerness  and  heat. 

"  Yes,  dear,  all  yourself,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
agreed,  and  the  coffee  being  made,  she  called 
her  guests  again  to  the  table,  where  half  a 
canteloupe  lay  on  each  plate.  After  that  they 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         149 

had  oatmeal,  and  then  coffee  and  eggs  and  Gra- 
ham gems. 

"  I'm  clean  ashamed  to  take  another,  but  they 
do  taste  so  good,"  Mrs.  Neal  apologised,  as  her 
hostess  pressed  her  to  take  another  gem;  and 
then  she  added  doubtfully,  "  I  guess  not  many 
ladies  can  cook  like  you  do,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Knowles  laughed.  "  Why,  yes,  in- 
deed," she  replied.  "  You  could  easily  cook 
everything  we  have  here,  and  there  is  nothing 
that  costs  much." 

Mrs.  Neal  shook  her  head.  "  We  don't  know 
how — us  poor  folks,"  she  said,  "  an'  we  don't 
have  the  things  to  cook  with,  nor  the  good 
bakin'  oven.  No,  we  can't  ever  do  it — but  I 
wish  we  could." 

"  You  can,"  Mrs.  Knowles  assured  her  ear- 
nestly. "If  you'll  come  here  once  a  week,  I'll 
be  glad  to  teach  you  to  cook  some  simple  dishes 
that  will  taste  good  and  cost  no  more  than 
what  you  have  now.  Do  you  mind  telling  me 
what  you  do  have  for  breakfast  generally  ?  " 

"  I  buys  the  bread — it's  less  trouble  than 
makin'  it,  an'  my  man  has  his  chop  or  bit  of 
liver  or  bacon.  I  fry  them  for  him  an'  make 
the  coffee.  Annie  an'  me  has  bread  an' 
coffee." 

"  Do  you  ever  make  cornbread  or  Johnny 
cakes  of  Indian  meal  ?  " 

The  woman  shook  her  head. 

"  Corn  meal  is  cheap  and  nourishing,  like  oat- 
meal. I  think  your  husband  would  like  the 


150  THEODORE  BRYAN 

cakes  made  of  it,  and  I'll  gladly  show  you  how 
to  make  them,  if  you  care  to  learn  ? " 

Mrs.  Neal  looked  doubtful.  Annie,  who  had 
been  listening  with  all  her  heart  in  her  eyes, 
now  asked  anxiously: 

"  You  goin'  to  show  Maggie  Hagan's  mother 
how  to  make  them  things?" 

"  Yes,  she  is  coming  here  to  learn  more  about 
cooking,"  Mrs.  Knowles  answered,  smiling 
down  into  the  earnest  little  face. 

"  Then  you  must — you  must,  mummy.  Tell 
the  lady  you  will,  mummy ! "  Annie  urged 
imploringly. 

"You'll  have  to  come  to  please  Annie — and 
bring  her  with  you  so  she  can  learn  too,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  said. 

"Oh,  mummy,  will  you?"  the  child  pleaded, 
and  Mrs.  Neal,  evidently  one  to  be  swayed  by 
the  stronger  will,  weakly  consented  to  "  give  it 
a  try,  anyhow." 

She  went  home  later  with  a  loaf  of  Graham 
bread  and  a  bag  of  cookies,  Annie  following  with 
a  very  grave  face,  plainly  reluctant  to  leave  this 
palace  of  delights.  At  the  door  the  child  turned 
back,  hesitating  a  moment,  then  catching  Mrs. 
Knowles'  hand  she  dropped  a  swift  kiss  upon 
it  and  ran  off  without  another  backward 
glance. 

"  There's  something  to  build  on  in  the  child. 
She's  a  dear  little  thing,  not  like  most  around 
here,"  Mrs.  Knowles  said,  apparently  to  Duffer, 
as  she  went  back  into  the  room.  Duffer  lifted 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         151 

a  corner  of  his  lip  and  his  mistress  looked  at 
him  reproachfully. 

"  Duffer,"  she  said,  "  you  are  not  to  turn  up 
your  nose — or  your  lip — in  that  scornful  fash- 
ion at  my  friends.  Yes,  my  friends — do  you 
hear?  I  know  her  skirts  were  dirty  and  drab- 
bled, and  her  shoes  all  run  over  at  the  heels, 
and  she's  as  limp  and  colourless  as  a  jelly-fish — 
almost — but  the  child  isn't,  and  we'll  save  her 
in  time,  through  the  child.  Oh,  yes " — as 
Duffer  darted  to  the  door,  ears  alert  and  tail 
wagging  swiftly — "you  know  Teddy's  step  as 
well  as  I  do,  and  you're  ready  enough  to  wel- 
come him,  but  I  believe  he's  bringing  somebody 
with  him " 

She  opened  the  door  before  Marston  could 
knock. 

"  I've  brought  my  cousin  to  see  you,  Mrs. 
Knowles,"  he  said,  "  but  you  are  not  to  call  her 
Miss  Armstrong,  you  know — she's  only  just 
Marjorie — Marjie,  for  short.  She's  going  to 
stay  at  Helm  House  for  a  while." 

"  She's  welcome,  by  whatever  name  you  call 
her,"  Mrs.  Knowles  replied,  holding  the  girl's 
hand  and  looking  admiringly  into  her  beautiful 
face.  Yet  beautiful  as  it  undoubtedly  was,  it 
was  not  a  happy  face. 

"  Teddy  said  I  must  come  now,  Mrs.  Knowles. 
I  hope  we  are  not  interrupting  you,  so  early  in 
the  morning,"  the  girl  said  politely,  as  her  host- 
ess drew  forward  a  chair  for  her. 

"  Not  a  bit,  not  a  bit,"  Mrs.  Knowles  assured 


152  THEODORE  BRYAN 

her  heartily,  "  I  love  to  have  visitors.  I've  had 
two  friends  spending  the  night  with  me. 
They've  just  gone."  She  told  them  a  little  about 
Annie  and  her  mother. 

"  But  how  can  you  bear  to  have  such  people 
sleep  in  your  beds  and  use  your  baths  ? "  the 
girl  exclaimed. 

"  Why,  I  want  to  help  them  and  make  them 
happy.  That's  what  I'm  here  for,  you  know," 
Mrs.  Knowles  answered  with  a  glance  of  sur- 
prise ;  and  then  she  added, "  You'll  have  to  meet 
all  sorts  of  people  at  Helm  House,  child." 
Marjorie  frowned;  but  the  next  instant  the 
frown  melted  into  a  charming  dimpled  smile. 
"  Oh,  yes,  but  it  seems  different  somehow  there 
at  the  Settlement.  That  is  on  purpose  for  '  the 
other  half,'  but  here — this  is  your  own  home, 
and  it  is  such  a  dear  old  house !  I  should  think 
you'd  feel  as  if  such  people  tainted  it  with  their 
— oh,  their  horrid  old  clothes  and  everything. 
I  don't  see  how  I'm  ever  going  to  endure  them 
near  me,"  she  ended  with  a  shudder. 

Teddy  frankly  scowled  at  her.  "  I  told  you 
you'd  be  sick  of  it  before  you  began ! "  he  ex- 
claimed. "  You'd  better  give  it  up  and  go 
home  to-night." 

"  No,"  the  girl  set  her  pretty  lips  firmly. 
"  I'm  going  to  stay  long  enough  this  time  to 
find  out  what  the  other  girls  see  in  it  to  make 
them  so  crazy  over  settlement  work.  And  be- 
sides, it  will  be  a  change.  Think  how  lovely 
home  will  seem  after  a  few  weeks  —  or 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         153 

months — of  Helm  House !  "  she  added,  with  a 
laugh. 

But  when,  after  a  little,  she  rose  to  go,  she 
suddenly  leaned  forward  and  touched  her  cheek 
to  Mrs.  Knowles'  face.  "  Please,"  she  coaxed, 
"  if  I  get  too  homesick  at  Helm  House,  may  I 
come  over  and  spend  a  day  or  a  night  with  you  ? 
I  know  I  should  love  it." 

"  And  I'd  love  to  have  you,"  was  the  quick  re- 
sponse. "  I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  tempted  to  hope 
that  you  will  get  homesick  soon — but  no,  of 
course  I  don't  really  mean  that,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
ended  gravely. 

"  I  shall  come  then,  and  soon,"  the  girl  flung 
gaily  back  as  she  went  away.  "  I  feel  an 
attack  of  homesickness  coming  on  this  very 
minute." 

But  it  was  a  month  later  that  she  kept  her 
word,  though  she  had  flitted  in  and  out  several 
times  in  the  interval.  Then  one  night  she  ap- 
peared just  before  supper-time,  running  lightly 
up  the  inside  way  from  the  basement,  and  tap- 
ping softly  at  the  door. 

"  I  didn't  want  to  go  to  the  front  door  and 
ring,"  she  said,  putting  her  hands  on  Mrs. 
Knowles'  shoulders  to  keep  her  from  rising. 
"  I  wanted  just  to  '  run  in '  as  if  I  '  belonged,' 
you  know.  Do  you  mind?  And — oh,  have  you 
anybody  else  coming  to-night — any  of  the  '  other 
half?" 

"  Nobody  else  is  coming,  and  I'm  glad  to 
have  you,  dear,"  Mrs.  Knowles  assured  her. 


154  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  I  was  just  wishing  that  I  had  some  one  to 
eat  supper  with  me,  and  thinking  I'd  have  to  go 
down  and  ask  Theodore  to  come  and  keep  me 
company." 

"  Don't  ask  him  to-night,  please.  Take  me 
instead,"  the  girl  coaxed.  "  I  don't  want  any 
Theodores  nor  even  any  Teddys,  though  Ted 
is  a  dear  boy — or  was,  until  your  Theodore  be- 
witched him." 

"  He  is.  They  are  both  dear  boys,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  declared  with  conviction. 

Marjorie  flung  that  lightly  aside.  "All  right 
— they  are,  if  you  say  so,"  she  agreed  half 
mockingly,  "  but  to-night  I  don't  want  anybody 
but  you,  and  I  don't  want  you  to  want  anybody 
but  me;  and  oh,  may  I  help  you  get  supper  in 
that  dear  little  blue-and-white  kitchen?  I  never 
helped  to  get  a  supper  in  all  my  life — except  a 
chafing-dish  supper,  and  those  don't  count." 

"  You  certainly  shall,  dearie — come  right  along 
out,"  and  Mrs.  Knowles  led  the  way  to  the 
kitchen. 

Marjorie  looked  about  with  sparkling  eyes. 
"  It's  just  the  dearest  place!  "  she  cried.  "  And 
do  you  really  and  truly  let  dirty,  ragged,  shimmy 
women  and  children  into  this  little  para- 
dise?" 

"  Yes.  I  expect  it  seems  really  almost  like 
paradise  to  them,  compared  with  the  dreadful 
places  some  of  them  live  in,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
added,  a  shadow  falling  over  her  kind  old 
face. 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         155 

"  Oh,  forget  them  for  this  one  night !  "  Mar- 
jorie  cried  impetuously.  "  I'm — I'm  sick  of 
poor-folksy  folks.  How  those  settlement  peo- 
ple endure  it — but  there!  I  didn't  mean  to 
think  of  them  to-night."  She  made  a  little  airy 
gesture  as  if  flinging  aside  something  distaste- 
ful, then  added  lightly,  "  What  a  love  of  an 
apron!  And  what  a  dreadfully  frivolous  per- 
son you  must  be,  Mrs.  Knowles,  to  trim  your 
kitchen  aprons  with  such  beautiful  ruffles ! " 
She  slipped  on  the  apron  that  Mrs.  Knowles 
handed  her,  and  turned  like  a  child  to  have  it 
buttoned.  "  Now  what  are  we  going  to  make 
for  our  supper,  dear  Mother  Knowles  ?  " 

Her  face,  smiling  and  dimpled,  looked  so  be- 
witching above  the  white  ruffles  that  Mrs. 
Knowles  could  not  resist  the  impulse  to  kiss  it. 
To  her  surprise,  the  girl's  arms  were  flung  about 
her  neck,  and  the  pretty  face  hidden  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  broad  shoulder.  Only  for  a  mo- 
ment, however,  and  if  there  were  tears  in  the 
dark  eyes  when  they  were  lifted,  they  were  in- 
stantly concealed  under  the  long  lashes. 

"  Come  now,  what  are  we  going  to  make  ?  " 
the  gay  voice  repeated.  "  Something  with  flour 
in  it.  I  never  sifted  any  flour  in  my  life,  but 
I've  watched  the  girls  in  the  cooking  classes  at 
Helm  House,  and  I'm  wild  to  get  my  hands  into 
some  flour — and  to  beat  some  eggs — and  every- 
thing." 

"Well,  then,  suppose  we  make  some  puffs? 
They  take  eggs  and  flour  and  a  deal  of  beating." 


156  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"Puffs  it  shall  be,  and  111  do  the  beating. 
My  arms  are  ever  so  strong." 

So,  under  Mrs.  Knowles'  direction  Marjorie 
sifted  the  flour,  beat  the  eggs,  and  added  milk 
and  salt — and  then  beat  and  beat  until  her 
arms  were  tired;  but  she  would  not  give  it 
up. 

"  I  want  to  do  every  single  bit  myself,"  she 
said. 

When  at  last  the  puffs  were  put  in  the  oven  of 
the  gas  stove,  Marjorie  sat  with  her  eyes  on 
the  clock,  and  in  twenty  minutes  cautiously 
opened  the  oven  door.  "  Oh,  they're  lovely — 
all  golden  brown  and  puffed  'way,  'way  up ! " 
she  exulted. 

And  they  were  as  good  as  they  looked,  so 
good  that  Marjorie  declared  that  she  could  eat 
half  a  dozen  herself;  but  her  appetite  was  satis- 
fied long  before  she  had  disposed  of  that  number. 
After  supper  she  wiped  the  dishes,  and  as  Mrs. 
Knowles  glanced  at  her,  she  was  reminded  of 
Annie's  mother  as  she  had  stood  that  other 
night  where  Marjorie— oh,  such  a  contrast! — 
was  standing  now. 

The  girl's  dark  eyes  were  searching  hers,  and 
suddenly  Marjorie  asked,  "  What  are  you  think- 
ing of,  dear  Mother  Knowles — to  make  you 
look  like  that  ?  But  no — don't  tell  me.  I'm  sure 
it's  about  some  of — those  people — and  we're  not 
to  think  of  them  to-night — at  least,  not  yet." 
She  broke  into  a  string  of  merry  nonsense  until 
she  had  Mrs.  Knowles  shaking  with  laughter, 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         157 

and  the  dishes  were  finished  in  a  gale  of 
merriment. 

But  after  that,  when  the  two  went  back  to  the 
other  room  and  Marjorie  had  lighted  the  fire 
as  little  Annie  had  done  that  other  night,  the 
girl's  mood  suddenly  changed.  The  bright 
face  became  grave,  and  the  dark  eyes  filled  with 
sombre  shadows. 

"  Sit  down  here  in  this  big  chair,  please ;  I 
want  to  talk  to  you,"  Marjorie  said;  yet  when 
Mrs.  Knowles  was  in  the  chair,  the  girl  did 
not  seem  ready  at  once  to  talk.  She  sat  on 
the  floor,  leaning  her  dark  head  against  the 
other's  knee,  and  stared  thoughtfully  into  the 
fire  for  a  long  time  without  saying  a  word, 
while  Duffer  crept  up  and  settled  himself,  with 
a  sigh  of  content,  on  her  skirt.  Finally  she 
looked  up. 

"  Mother  Knowles — you  don't  mind  if  I  call 
you  that?" 

"  I  love  to  have  you,  dear." 

"  And  I  love  to  say  it.  You  see — I  haven't 
been  '  mothered '  since  I  was  seven.  Maybe  I'd 
be  happier — and  better — if  I  had  been.  I'm 
sure  I  should.  As  it  is,  I'm  just  a  perverse 
bundle  of  contradictions.  I  used  to  be  contented 
enough  until  Teddy  came  down  here  to  live. 
You  know  he  goes  home  once  a  month,  and  he 
says  things — oh,  all  sorts  of  unsettling  things. 
I  suppose  he  gets  them  from  Theodore  Bryan. 
I'm  sure  he  never  had  any  such  notions  before 
he  went  to  college  and  got  to  adoring  Bryan. 


158  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Uncle  Ed  just  laughs  and  says, '  It's  a  phase. 
He'll  outgrow  it  and  be  like  other  people  after 
a  while.'  Do  you  suppose  he  will  ?  " 

"  Do  you  hope  he  will,  child  ?  "  The  question 
was  very  gently  put. 

"  I — don't — know,"  Marjorie  answered  slowly. 
"  Sometimes  I  think  I  do  and  sometimes  I  think 
I  don't.  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  all  his  talk  has 
unsettled  me  so  that  I  never  can  be  really  com- 
fortable— as  I  used  to  be  anyhow.  You  see  " — 
she  lifted  an  earnest  face  in  the  firelight — "  I 
suppose  you'll  think  I'm  dreadful,  but  /  do  not 
like  being  with  people  whose  clothes  smell  of 
beer  and  cabbage  and  tobacco — who  have  grimy 
hands  and  broken  fingernails.  It  isn't  that  I'm 
not  sorry  for  them — I  am — just  as  sorry  as  I 
can  be,  and  I'm  willing  to  give  money  to  help, 
willing  and  glad  to  do  that." 

"  But  not  willing  to  give  yourself." 

"No!"  replied  the  girl  passionately,  "I'm 
not  willing  to  give  myself.  Isn't  it  enough  that 
I'm  willing  to  pay  somebody  else  to  do  the 
work  in  my  place  ?  Isn't  it,  Mother  Knowles  ?  " 

"  That  is  for  you  to  say,  dear." 

"  But  I  want  somebody  else  to  bolster  me  up, 
and  help  me  argue  down  whatever  it  is  in  me 
that  won't  let  me  be  at  peace.  I  suppose  you'd 
say  it  is  my  conscience." 

Mrs.  Knowles  smiled,  touching  with  gentle 
fingers  the  dark  head  at  her  knee. 

"  Nobody  can  come  between  you  and  your 
conscience,  child,"  she  said. 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS         159 

"  Oh,  dear !  "  the  girl  sighed.  "  I  think  liv- 
ing is  so  hard — sometimes.  I've  tried  to  like 
the  work  at  the  Settlement — the  other  girls 
seem  to  like  it — but  after  a  week  or  two  of  it, 
I  get  so  that  I  fairly  loathe  the  sight  of  the 
heavy  beery  men  and  the  women  with  their  cot- 
ton laces  and  draggled  skirts,  and  the  unspeak- 
able children.  I  do  loathe  the  whole  atmosphere 
of  Helm  House — and  then  I  pack  my  bag  and 
take  the  first  train  home;  and  no  words  can 
express  how  lovely  my  own  room  and  my  nice 
bed  seem  to  me — and  the  table.  I  feel  like 
taking  deep  breaths,  as  one  does  at  the  seashore." 

"  And  yet  you  come  back." 

"  Yes.  What  do  you  suppose  makes  me  ? 
/  don't  know."  Marjorie's  lifted  eyes  were  full 
of  perplexed  questioning. 

"  Ah,  child,  you  are  being  led,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
said  softly,  "  and  you'll  find  the  way  of  peace 
by-and-by." 

Marjorie  drew  a  long  impatient  breath. 
"  But  I  want  peace  now — now ! "  she  cried.  "  I 
hate  waiting  for  things !  " 

"  Child — waiting  times  come  often  in  most 
lives.  You  can't  hurry — God." 

Marjorie  was  silent  then,  but  the  mutinous 
glint  in  her  eyes  was  not  lost  on  the  older 
woman.  Being  a  wise  woman,  however,  she 
knew  when  to  be  silent,  and  presently  the  girl 
flung  aside  her  grave  questionings  and  became 
the  charming  companion  that  she  knew  so  well 
how  to  be. 


160  THEODORE  BRYAN 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  she  was  run- 
ning over  with  mischief,  teasing  Mrs.  Knowles, 
frolicking  with  Duffer,  and  carefully  ignoring  all 
reference  to  Helm  House  and  the  work  there. 
Only  when  she  was  going  away,  the  laughter 
died  out  of  her  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"  You're  a  dear — a  dear  dear — and  I  love  you, 
Mother  Knowles,"  she  said  softly,  and  was  gone ; 
and  it  was  months  before  Mrs.  Knowles  saw  her 
again. 

"  She  got  sick  of  the  whole  business,  and 
just  quit  and  went  home,"  Teddy  explained  a 
week  later,  "  and  a  good  thing  too.  She's 
about  as  fit  for  settlement  work  as  a  butterfly 
is  to  make  honey." 

"  She's  a  beautiful  butterfly,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
answered,  recalling  the  dark  vivid  face  in  the 
firelight  that  night. 

"Yes,"  Teddy  returned  with  a  grin,  "you're 
not  the  only  one  that  thinks  so.  She  has  a  long 
string  of  admirers,  but  so  far  she  keeps  'em 
all  guessing.  I'm  off,  but  here's  Bryan  to  keep 
you  company,"  he  added,  as  Bryan  entered,  and 
with  his  hand  on  the  door  Marston  paused  to 
say,  "  Keep  him  there  by  your  fire  to-night, 
Mother  Knowles.  He's  tired  out  and  needs  a 
rest.  Those  beggars  he  works  for  never  give 
him  any  peace." 

As  the  door  closed  behind  him,  Mrs.  Knowles 
said :  "  Sit  down  here,  Theodore ;  you  do  look 
tired.  What  is  the  matter?  Too  much  work, 
or  is  something  troubling  you  ?  " 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS        161 

"  Maybe  I  am  a  little  tired,  but  that's  noth- 
ing," he  answered.  "  I'm  troubled  about  Jim." 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said,  putting  aside  her  work 
to  give  undivided  attention. 

"  Why,  you  know  I've  been  a  bit  more  hope- 
ful about  Jim  lately.  He's  been  a  great  deal 
more  decent,  has  dropped  much  of  his  street 
talk,  and  stands  Mack's  rough  jokes  and  jeers 
without  a  knockdown  fight  more  than  once  a 
day,  and  he  was  really  beginning  to  get  on 
fairly  well  with  the  shop  work,  and  now  all  at 
once  he's  quit — hasn't  come  near  the  shop 
for  almost  a  week,  nor  to  the  club  meetings 
either." 

"  And  you  can't  find  out  why  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  found  out.  It  seems  that  his 
father  has  asserted  his  authority,  and  threat- 
ened all  sorts  of  things  if  Jim  comes  here  any 
more." 

"  From  what  you've  told  me  of  Jim,  I 
shouldn't  think  he'd  stand  being  ordered  about 
even  by  his  father." 

"That's  right,"  Bryan  assented.  "I  don't 
think  anybody  could  frighten  Jim — for  himself 
— but  it  seems  his  father  has  threatened  to  break 
up  our  work  here  and,  incidentally,  to  break  my 
head,  if  Jim  doesn't  keep  away." 

Mrs.  Knowles  leaned  forward,  speaking 
eagerly.  "  But,  Theodore,  if  Jim  stays  away  for 
that  reason,  you  ought  to  be  glad.  It  shows 
that  he  is  concerned  for  you — that  he  cares." 

"  Exactly,  and  that's  just  the  point.    I  can't 


162  THEODORE  BRYAN 

let  the  poor  fellow  go  now,  when  I'm  really 
beginning  to  get  a  hold  on  him,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  I  see — your  point  of  view.  Do  you  think 
his  father  really  could — I  mean,  would  he  dare 
to  do  you  or  the  shop  any  serious  harm  ?  " 

"  From  the  looks  of  him — one  of  the  boys 
pointed  him  out  to  me  the  other  day  on  the 
street — I  should  say  that  he  wouldn't  hesitate  at 
anything.  He  looks  a  regular  brute.  And  be- 
ing a  great,  heavy-fisted,  bullying  chap,  he  has 
quite  a  following  among  the  men  he  works  with, 
I  understand.  Of  course,  I  don't  care  that  for 
his  threats,  so  far  as  I,  personally,  am  con- 
cerned," Bryan  snapped  his  fingers  carelessly, 
"  but  it's  Jim  and  the  other  boys  I'm  thinking 
about.  Several  others  have  stopped  coming  this 
last  week  or  two.  It  all  shows  that  Jim's  father 
has  the  power  as  well  as  the  inclination  to  make 
trouble  for  us." 

"  Oh,  I'm  sorry ;  they  all  seemed  to  have  such 
a  good  time  with  your  open  fire  and  the  nuts 
and  popcorn,  that  night  you  asked  me  down," 
Mrs.  Knowles  said  regretfully. 

"  They  do.  That  open  fire  draws  them  like 
a  magnet.  They  love  to  roast  apples  and  pop 
corn  over  it,  and  to  talk  and  tell  stories.  I 
manage  to  slip  in  many  a  good  lesson  with 
the  stories  and  nuts,  Mother  Knowles,  and 
they  never  find  out  what  I'm  up  to.  The 
Free  Talk  Club  they've  dubbed  it,  and  they 
are  entirely  free  to  speak  their  minds.  I  tell 
you  it  has  choked  me  up  more  than  once  when 


MRS.  KNOWLES'  GUESTS        163 

one  of  those  big  fellows,  getting  earnest  and 
interested,  has  forgotten  himself  and  let  an  oath 
or  a  low  word  slip  out — to  see  his  face  change 
suddenly,  and  then,  without  a  word  from  any- 
body, he  gets  up  and  leaves.  They  made  the 
rule  themselves,  you  know,  that  there  should  be 
clean  talk  before  the  fire,  and  anybody  who 
breaks  the  rule  shuts  himself  out  for  a  week. 
You  can't  have  any  idea  how  hard  it  is  for 
those  boys  to  break  themselves  of  that  one 
habit.  They  learn  to  swear  as  soon  as  they  can 
speak." 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  came  to  make  that  rule, 
Theodore.  How  did  they  ?  " 

"  One  or  two  of  them  had  been  over  to  our  old 
club  and  knew  that  that  was  one  of  the  rules 
there — that's  self-governing  too,  you  see,"  Bryan 
explained.  "  That's  the  way  it  came  about,  and 
these  Sabin  Street  boys,  of  course,  never  hav- 
ing tried  before,  had  no  faintest  idea  what  they 
were  letting  themselves  in  for.  Mack  had  a 
mighty  hard  time  for  months.  It  seemed  as 
if  he  never  could  tame  that  quick  Irish  tongue 
of  his,  but  he's  beginning  now  to  get  a  grip 
on  it." 

"And  Tony?" 

"  Tony  is  so  close-mouthed  that  it  wasn't  so 
hard  for  him  as  for  most  of  them.  And  then 
Tommy  O'Brien  is  doing  a  lot  for  Tony.  If 
I  could  only  get  some  of  the  others  interested  in 
some  helpless  soul  like  Tommy!  But  there 
aren't  many  like  him — poor  old  Tommy !  " 


164  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  I'm  going  over  to  see  Tommy  the  first 
chance  I  can  get,"  Mrs.  Knowles  declared,  "  but 
I've  had  my  hands  full  lately  with  Mrs.  Simms. 
She's  growing  weaker  all  the  time,  and  needs  a 
great  deal  of  attention.  One  of  the  deacon- 
esses is  coming  to-morrow  to  take  care  of  her." 

Mrs.  Simms  and  her  grandchild  occupied  one 
set  of  rooms  on  the  upper  floor. 

"And  when  she  is  gone,  what  will  be  done 
with  Elizabeth  ?  "  Bryan  enquired. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  keep  her.  There 
doesn't  seem  to  be  anybody  else  to  do  it.  She's 
a  strange  little  creature;  I  can't  feel  right  to 
have  her  sent  to  an  institution  with  all  sorts 
of  children.  Elizabeth  won't  grow  up  right, 
unless  she's  loved  up." 

"  You're  a  good  woman,  Mother  Knowles," 
Bryan  smiled  across  at  her. 

"  It's  little  I'm  doing — just  filling  in  the  days 
till  I'm  called,"  she  answered  quietly,  "  but  you, 
Theodore,  you  are  giving  your  best — your  whole 
life." 

Before  Bryan's  mind  there  flashed  a  vision  of 
one  who  had  given  all  his  life — such  a  splendid 
life,  but  all  too  short — to  work  for  his  fellows. 
That  rarely  beautiful  smile  transformed  his 
plain,  strong  face,  as  he  said  quietly,  "  Could 
I  put  my  life  to  any  better  use  ?  " 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET 

DECEMBER  came,  and  as  the  great  holi- 
day drew  near,  Green  Tree  House  was 
all  a-thrill  with  the  spirit  of  Christmas. 
Some  of  the  Sabin  Street  children  had  known 
a  little  of  Christmas  through  mission  schools 
and  settlements,  but  most  of  them  had  no  share 
in  the  joy  of  the  season  beyond  that  found  in 
peering  wistfully  into  fascinating  shop  windows, 
or  sniffing  the  spicy  fragrance  of  trees  and 
greenery  displayed  at  corner  groceries.  The 
boys  in  Bryan's  old  club,  however,  knew  all 
about  Christmas  trees,  and  gifts,  and  celebra- 
tions, and  the  stories  they  told  stirred  some  of 
the  Sabin  Street  boys  to  envy  and  emulation. 

Mrs.  Knowles  was  planning  a  Christmas  fes- 
tival for  the  girls  who  came  to  her  for  cooking 
and  sewing  lessons,  and  there  was  to  be  the  usual 
tree  and  social  evening  at  the  old  club,  but  Bryan 
had  not  decided  about  the  Sabin  Street  Christ- 
mas when,  one  evening,  six  boys  trooped  into 
the  "  fire  room,"  as  they  had  christened  the 
room  with  the  big  fireplace.  Bryan  set  chairs 
for  them  before  the  fire  and  waited  for  them 
to  tell  why  they  had  come.  It  was  Mack  who 
began. 

166 


166  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Say,  boss,  we  want  a  Christmas  tree  like 
they're  goin'  to  have  't  the  club." 

"  How  much  do  you  want  it  ? "  Bryan 
questioned. 

The  boys  stared  at  him  and  then  at  each  other. 
Finally,  one  of  the  younger  ones  piped  up, 
"  Lots." 

"  You  want  it  '  lots,'  do  you,  Johnny  ?  Well, 
I'll  help  you,  of  course.  What's  your  plan? 
How  are  you  going  to  pay  for  it?" 

Surprise  and  disappointment  crept  into  the 
faces  of  the  boys.  Then  one  enquired,  "  How 
does  the  club  fellers  get  theirs  ?  " 

"They  appoint  a  committee  to  raise  money 
among  the  members  for  the  tree  and  the  trim- 
mings and  candles.  Anybody  who  likes  can 
put  on  a  present  for  anybody  else,"  Bryan  ex- 
plained. 

Deep  disgust  was  manifest  on  Mack's  freckled 
face.  "  An'  don't  the  fellers  git  nothin'  gave  to 
'em  off  the  tree?"  he  demanded  gruffly. 

"  Sometimes — sometimes  not,"  Bryan  told 
him. 

"  Aw,  that's  no  good !  "  growled  Mack.  "  Say, 
fellers,  de  Mission  does  us  better'n  that." 

"  You  hush  up,  Mack !  "  cried  another,  giving 
Mack  a  poke  with  his  elbow.  "  We  wanter 
hear  somebody  else  talk.  Say,"  to  Bryan, 
"  you  tell  us  how  we  c'n  get  a  tree.  We're  goin' 
to  have  one — we  be." 

Bryan's  rare  smile  flashed  out  at  that.  "  If 
that's  the  way  you  feel  about  it  we'll  surely 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET    167 

have  one,  Tom,"  he  said,  and  then  to  the  other 
he  added  gravely,  "  Mack,  I  don't  believe  in  the 
kind  of  Christmas  tree  you  are  thinking  about 
— not  for  big  fellows  like  you,  fast  growing  into 
men.  You  don't  want  things  given  to  you  as 
if  you  were  little  children.  You  want  to  get 
them  yourselves — for  yourselves  and  for  other 
people.  Isn't  that  so?"  He  looked  from  one 
to  another. 

"  Yes,  sir-ee !  " 

"  Bet  yer  life  'tis !  " 

"  We  ain't  no  Mission  kids  goin'  a-beggin'." 

In  one  breath  came  the  responses  from  Tom 
and  two  others;  the  remaining  three  were  silent 
and  dubious. 

"  Now  I'll  tell  you,"  Bryan  went  on,  "  what 
I'll  do.  I'll  provide  the  tree — that  will  be  my 
share.  You  boys  who  want  a  tree  must  get 
money  for  the  candles  and  trimmings." 

"  How  much'll  it  be  ?  "  demanded  Tom. 

"  Well,  half  a  dollar  will  buy  considerable. 
We'll  do  what  we  can  with  that.  I'm  sure 
Mother  Knowles  will  pop  some  corn  for  you, 
and  maybe  her  girls  will  string  it." 

"  Kin  we  have  it  here  in  the  fire  room  ? " 
questioned  the  youngest. 

"  Of  course  you  can." 

"An'  won't  we  have  no  givin's?"  demanded 
Mack  gloomily. 

"  Just  as  many  as  you  like — the  more  the  bet- 
ter," Bryan  told  him.  Then  to  the  others, 
"  Suppose  you  form  yourselves  into  a  commit- 


168  THEODORE  BRYAN 

tee — you  six — and  if  I  were  you  I'd  make  a 
rule  that  nobody  should  come  to  your  tree  un- 
less he  put  on  it  a  present  for  some  one.  That's 
the  way  they  are  going  to  do  at  the  club  this 
year." 

Again  there  was  an  exchange  of  doubtful 
glances.  "  Lots  o'  the  fellers  won't  come  then," 
muttered  one. 

"  Then  let  them  stay  away.  You  don't  want 
any  one  who  is  selfish  and  stingy  at  your  Christ- 
mas celebration,  do  you?"  Bryan  asked. 

"Dunno,"  muttered  one,  while  another  de- 
manded : 

"D'ye  mean  as  we's  got  to  give  presents  to 
somebody  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course.  That's  what  Christmas  is 
for — to  give  you  a  chance  to  give  and  to  make 
other  people  happy.  If  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't 
have  any  boy  come,  as  I  said,  who  did  not  bring 
a  gift  to  haftg  on  the  tree  for  some  one.  It  can 
be  for  somebody  in  his  own  home,  or  for 
some  other  boy;  and  it  can  be  something  he 
makes  himself  or  something  he  buys.  If  it's 
ever  so  little,  each  one  should  bring  something. 
That's  the  only  kind  of  Christmas  tree  we  want 
in  this  room.  I  know  you'll  agree  with  me  when 
you  think  it  over." 

They  asked  a  few  more  questions  and  then 
went  away,  doubtful  and  far  from  enthusiastic 
— most  of  them;  but  Tom  Brown  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  have  that  tree,  and  Tom  was  a  boy 
who  could  not  be  easily  turned  aside  from  a 


purpose  once  formed.  Tom  canvassed  the 
neighbourhood;  he  argued,  persuaded,  in  some 
cases  compelled,  the  Sabin  Street  boys  to  lend  a 
hand.  He  even  won  over  Mack  by  making  him 
chairman  of  the  Christmas  committee,  and  prom- 
ising not  to  ask  Black  Jim  to  have  a  share  in 
it.  And  Mack,  being  chairman,  promptly  issued 
his  orders  to  "  the  gang."  Every  boy  was  to 
contribute,  if  no  more  than  a  single  penny,  and 
every  boy  must  bring  a  gift  to  put  on  the  tree. 

Now  it  was  a  fact  that  not  one  of  these  boys 
had  ever  made  a  Christmas  gift,  though  some 
had  received  them  at  the  Mission  schools.  The 
difficulty  for  them  lay,  not  so  much  in  finding 
something  to  give,  as  in  deciding  on  the  one  to 
whom  it  should  be  given.  "  Get  all  you  can 
and  give  nothing  to  anybody,"  had  ever  been  the 
Sabin  Street  idea.  Bryan,  so  keenly  interested 
in  all  the  boys,  watched  the  struggle  that  went 
on  in  the  minds  of  some  of  them  at  this  time, 
as  he  gathered  it  from  chance  words  or  eager 
questions  that  he  caught.  But  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  he  had  been  teaching  the  beauty 
and  privilege  of  service — it  was  the  atmosphere 
in  which  he  lived,  and  the  boys  who  were  much 
with  him  had  already  begun  to  catch  something 
of  his  spirit,  though  they  could  not  have  put  it 
into  words,  even  in  their  own  minds. 

And,  as  the  Great  Day  drew  near,  it  became 
quite  impossible  for  any  of  the  boys  who  now 
frequented  Green  Tree  House  to  escape  en- 
tirely the  beautiful  contagion  of  the  Christmas 


170  THEODORE  BRYAN 

spirit.  Some  of  them  had  sisters  among  Mother 
Knowles'  girls,  and  by  this  time  there  was  not 
one  of  them  who  was  not  planning  a  Christ- 
mas surprise  for  somebody,  and  one  boy  caught 
it  from  another.  One  discovered  for  the  first 
time  that  a  fellow  might  make  his  mother  a 
Christmas  gift,  and  one,  a  little  chap  whose 
slender  shoulders  were  bent  from  long  service 
as  "  little  father "  to  three  younger  children, 
was  pathetically  eager  to  hang  on  the  tree 
something  for  each  one  of  them.  So  silently, 
steadily,  the  sweet  spirit  of  love  crept  into  one 
tough  boyish  heart  after  another,  and  swiftly 
melted  away  the  hard  crust  of  selfishness,  till 
some  were  eager  to  do  and  give,  and  others  were 
at  least  ashamed  not  to  do  so.  And  so  the 
walls  of  the  old  house  on  Sabin  Street  heard 
many  a  whispered  consultation  or  confidence  in 
corners  and  halls,  and  the  logs  on  the  time- 
worn  hearth  glowed  and  blazed  and  crackled, 
as  if  they  too  had  caught  the  Christmas  spirit 
of  loving  service,  and  were  laughing  for  very 
joy  in  it. 

In  the  shop,  Bryan  and  Marston  had  their 
hands  so  full  that  they  had  to  call  in  Jack  Finney 
and  Dick  Hunt  to  help  them,  for  the  little  shop 
was  beginning  to  be  known,  and  orders  were 
piling  up  faster  than  hands  could  be  found  or 
trained  to  fill  them.  There  were  no  eight-hour 
working  days  here.  When  the  day  workers  left 
at  six  o'clock,  their  places  were  quickly  filled  by 
boys  who  worked  elsewhere  during  the  day,  and 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET   171 

who  came  evenings  to  make  their  Christmas 
gifts.  Many  a  boy  who  began  grudgingly  to 
make  some  trifle,  just  to  ensure  his  having  a 
part  in  the  celebration  in  the  fire  room,  found 
himself  planning  something  else  before  the  first 
poor  gift  was  finished;  and  so  the  beautiful 
work  went  on,  the  boys  never  guessing  that  the 
tasks  their  clumsy,  unskilled  fingers  were  slowly 
completing  were  but  the  dim  reflection  of  the 
work  which  was  going  on  in  their  souls.  But 
Bryan  guessed — he  knew  and  his  heart  was  glad. 
And  Teddy  knew  too,  and  forgot  to  be,  or  pre- 
tend to  be,  bored  and  indifferent.  He  was  here, 
there,  and  everywhere,  helping  this  boy  and  that, 
making  suggestions,  lending  a  sympathetic  ear 
to  whispered  plans — not  seldom  helping  some 
little  fellow  to  carry  out  some  scheme  that  re- 
quired more  pennies  than  could  be  found  in  the 
boy's  own  ragged  pockets. 

On  Christmas  Eve  Bryan  came  to  Mrs. 
Knowles'  room  to  give  her  a  "  formal  invita- 
tion "  from  the  boys  to  attend  their  celebra- 
tion the  next  evening.  "You  are  to  be  the 
guest  of  honour,"  he  said.  "  It  was  not  my 
suggestion — the  boys  themselves  proposed  it." 

"  Bless  their  hearts,  I  wouldn't  miss  it  for  any 
consideration,"  Mrs.  Knowles  answered  heartily. 
"  My  girls  are  to  be  here  in  the  morning,  so 
that  won't  interfere."  She  lifted  from  the  table 
a  box  full  of  small  packages,  adding  anxiously, 
"  I  do  hope  I  haven't  left  any  boy  out." 

"  Mother  Knowles !    Do  you  mean  to  say  that 


172  THEODORE  BRYAN 

you  have  a  gift  for  every  one  of  our  boys,  as 
well  as  all  your  girls  ?  "  cried  Bryan. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  defended  herself, "  you  see  I've 
nobody  else  to  give  to  except  those  that  would 
not  have  any  Christmas — and  a  few  old  friends." 

Bryan  shook  his  head  at  her,  then  enquired, 
"Where  is  Elizabeth?" 

"  I  sent  her  to  bed  early.  She  is  just  about 
wild  with  excitement.  Poor  little  thing,  I  guess 
this  will  be  the  first  real  happy  Christmas  she 
has  ever  had." 

"But  not  the  last.  She's  a  lucky  child  to 
fall  into  your  hands,  Mother  Knowles." 

Mrs.  Knowles  shook  her  head  doubtfully.  "  I 
don't  know.  Sometimes  I  think  I'm  too  old  to 
bring  up  a  child,  especially  such  a  hot-tempered 
little  creature  as  Elizabeth.  If  I  hadn't  got  to 
loving  her,  I  shouldn't  dare  undertake  it,  for 
she  certainly  is  enough,  sometimes,  to  try  the 
patience  of  Job,  with  her  temper  and  her 
tantrums.  But  if  I  love  her  enough,  I  hope  she 
will  come  out  all  right  in  the  end." 

"  She  will,  never  doubt  it."  Bryan  declared. 
"*  Bring  her  with  you  to-morrow  night,  of 
course." 

After  a  moment's  silence,  Mrs.  Knowles  said, 
"  Theodore,  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  tell  you 
about  Jim." 

"  Jim  ?  "  Bryan  returned  with  quick  interest 
"What  about  Jim?" 

"  I  think  I've  found  the  soft  place  in  his 
heart." 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET   178 

"  Trust  you  for  that,  Mother  Knowles.  I  be- 
lieve you'd  find  the  soft  place  in  the  heart  of 
a  stone.  But  tell  me  about  Jim." 

"  I  wish  you  could  have  seen  him — and  heard 
him,  Theodore.  He  rang  the  bell,  but  when  I 
opened  the  door  he  looked  as  if  he  had  half  a 
mind  to  turn  and  run.  I  guess  coming  in  here 
was  one  of  the  hardest  things  he  ever  did.  I 
don't  see  how  he  ever  came  to  do  it.  At  first 
he  sat  on  the  edge  of  that  chair  twisting  his 
cap  round  and  round  in  his  hands,  and  looking 
so  red  and  uncomfortable,  poor  fellow!  But  I 
just  talked  to  him  as  easily  as  I  could  till  he 
got  a  little  used  to  me,  and  finally,  all  of  a 
sudden,  he  blurted  out,  '  Say,  I  want  ye  to 
tell  me  what  to  git  fer  a  present — a  Christmas 
present/ 

" '  I'd  like  to  help  you  plan  a  Christmas  pres- 
ent, but  whom  is  it  for? '  I  asked  him. 

"  You  ought  to  have  seen  that  boy's  face, 
Theodore.  I  surely  did  feel  sorry  for  him,  it 
was  so  hard  for  him  to  tell  me.  I  guess  he 
isn't  much  used  to  women- folks.  Finally,  he 
stammered  out, '  It's — it's  fer  granny.' 

"  '  Your  grandmother  ? '  I  said.  '  That  won't 
be  hard.  Tell  me  a  little  about  her  and  then 
I  shall  know  better  what  she  would  like.  Do 
you  always  give  her  a  Christmas  gift?' 

"  He  shook  his  head.  '  No,'  he  said,  '  we 
don't  do  things  like  that  at  our  place.  The  old 
man  would  bang  me  over  the  head  if  he  knew 
I  was  thinking  of  it.  She's  awful  old,  granny 


174  THEODORE  BRYAN 

is — older'n  you,  I  guess,  a  lot — an'  she  can't  see 
much.  She  can't  walk  neither,'  he  went  on 
eagerly,  as  if,  now  that  he  had  begun,  he  rather 
liked  to  talk  of  her. 

"  '  And  she  lives  with  you  ? '  I  asked. 

" '  No/  he  told  me,  '  she's  in  the  poor- 
house.  They  sent  her  there  'cause  she  couldn't 
work  no  more.'  He  shook  his  head  threaten- 
ingly, and  went  on,  '  I'll  pay  the  old  man  off 
for  that  some  day,  I  will ! ' 

"  I  let  that  pass  and  questioned  him  until  I 
found  out  that  his  mother  died  when  he  was  a 
little  fellow,  and  this  old  grandmother  was 
'  mighty  good '  to  him,  till  his  father  brought 
home  a  new  wife.  Then  the  grandmother  was 
promptly  packed  off  to  the  almshouse.  They 
wouldn't  tell  Jim  where  she  was,  but  he  found 
out  through  some  neighbour,  and  he  went  to 
see  her  and  has  kept  on  going  ever  since,  and 
now  and  then  when  he  could,  he  has  given  her 
a  little  money.  But  he  doesn't  dare  let  his 
father  know  that  he  sees  her,  for  fear  he  would 
find  some  way  to  stop  it." 

"And  what  is  the  boy  going  to  give  his  old 
granny  ?  "  Bryan  asked. 

"A  little  shawl  to  throw  over  her  shoulders. 
I  bought  it  for  him." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad,  more  glad  than  I  can  say, 
that  we've  found  Jim  out.  I  shall  know  better 
now  how  to  manage  him.  If  we  can  once  get 
him  started  on  the  right  road,  he'll  stay  there 
and  make  good,  I  believe." 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET   175 

"  He  doesn't  come  to  the  shop  any  more  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  still  drops  in  occasionally  at  the 
fire  room  evenings." 

"  You've  gotten  hold  of  him,  Theodore ;  I 
could  see  that  by  the  way  he  spoke  of  you,  little 
as  he  said." 

"  Have  I  ?  I  hope  so,  but  I  don't  know. 
Then  he'll  come  to  the  tree  to-morrow  night, 
since  he  is  making  a  gift?  " 

"  No,  he  says  he  doesn't  want  the  boys  to 
know  about  his  grandmother,  for  fear  his  father 
will  find  out  that  he  goes  to  see  her." 

"  Poor  lad,  I  see,"  returned  Bryan,  "  but  we 
must  have  him  if  we  can.  I'll  try  to  manage 
it  somehow." 

Never  was  there  such  a  Christmasy  place  as 
Green  Tree  House  the  next  day.  In  the  morn- 
ing the  girls  held  high  festival.  In  the  after- 
noon their  mothers  and  grandmothers  were  Mrs. 
Knowles'  guests;  and  then  at  half-past  seven 
Mrs.  Knowles  and  Elizabeth  went  down-stairs 
to  the  Christmas  tree.  A  hubbub  of  rough 
boyish  voices  greeted  them  as  they  paused  for 
a  moment  in  the  doorway,  and  Mack,  as  chair- 
man of  the  Christmas  committee,  hurried  for- 
ward to  lead  Mrs.  Knowles  to  a  chair  decked 
with  evergreen. 

The  large,  low,  old-fashioned  room  was  lighted 
only  by  the  fire  that  roared  in  the  big  fireplace 
and  the  row  of  candles  set  in  crimson  apples 
along  the  high  mantelpiece.  Over  the  mantel- 
piece was  the  flag  that  was  always  there,  and 


176  THEODORE  BRYAN 

the  walls  were  hung  with  holly  and  vines.  At 
one  end  of  the  room  stood  the  tree  in  all  its 
glory  of  glowing  colour  and  glittering  tinsel,  with 
white  festoons  of  popcorn  draping  it  from  top 
to  bottom.  It  was  a  large  tree,  and  everywhere 
on  it  that  a  candle  could  be  fixed,  there  was 
one. 

"  Who  is  to  light  the  candles  on  the  tree  ? " 
Bryan  enquired,  when  Mack,  with  an  elaborate 
bow,  had  seated  the  honoured  guest.  Mack  was 
outdoing  himself  to-night.  Now,  with  a  new- 
born impulse  of  gallantry,  he  responded  in- 
stantly. 

"  The  little  lady,  of  course,"  and  he  put  a 
small  taper,  fastened  to  the  end  of  a  long  stick, 
into  the  proud  hands  of  Elizabeth.  Elizabeth 
had  never  before  been  called  "  a  little  lady." 

"  Oh,  can  I  ? "  she  cried,  quivering  with  de- 
light. "But  I  can't  reach." 

"  Why  not  ? "  said  Bryan,  and  the  next  in- 
stant the  child  was  lifted  to  his  shoulder,  where 
trembling  with  half-fearful  bliss,  she  clung  with 
one  arm  around  his  neck  while,  with  the  long 
stick,  she  set  the  little  candles  a-gleam  all  over 
the  tree,  every  boy,  watching  with  breathless 
interest,  and  calling  prompt  attention  to  any 
taper  that  she  chanced  to  overlook.  When  the 
tree  was  all  a-glow  with  the  soft  glimmering 
lights,  a  sudden  silence  fell  on  the  room.  Some- 
thing new  and  sweet  was  stirred  in  the  hearts 
of  those  rough  street  boys  by  this — their  very 
own  Christmas  tree.  It  meant  much  to  them, 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET    177 

just  because  they  had  worked  hard  and  made 
sacrifices  for  it.  In  a  vague  dim  fashion,  it 
spoke  of  things  strange  to  them — things  high 
and  pure  and  beautiful,  that  had  never  come  so 
near  their  lives  before.  Then,  through  the  sweet 
hush  stole  a  strain  of  music,  soft  and  low,  like 
the  far-off  echo  of  angel  voices,  swelling  a  lit- 
tle, then  slowly,  slowly,  dying  into  silence. 

With  a  long  deep  breath  from  one  and  another 
the  spell  was  broken,  and  in  an  instant  the  room 
was  again  full  of  eager  clamorous  voices. 

"  Play  some  more !  " 

"  More,  more !  " 

"Fiddle!    Fiddle!    Fiddle!" 

But  Bennie  shook  his  head  and  put  the  violin 
carefully  aside  as  Bryan  said,  "  No  more  now, 
boys.  He'll  play  for  you  later,  but  now  I  think 
some  of  you  want  to  see  what  is  in  those  pack- 
ages under  the  tree.  Your  chairman  has  asked 
me  to  distribute  the  gifts,  so  I'll  hand  this" — 
he  picked  up  the  package  nearest  him,  "  to— 
Tom  Brown." 

Tom,  flushed  with  mingled  pleasure  and  em- 
barrassment, stepped  forward  to  receive  his  gift 
— a  set  of  drafting  instruments  from  Marston 
— while  Bryan  explained  that  but  for  Tom's  de- 
termination and  perseverance,  they  might  not 
have  had  any  tree  at  all.  Tom,  who  had  given 
indications  of  ability  in  drawing  plans,  was  so 
overwhelmed  when  he  opened  the  box,  that  he 
barely  remembered  to  mutter  his  clumsy  thanks 
before  he  slid  back  to  his  seat. 


178  THEODORE  BRYAN 

As  the  distribution  went  on,  Mrs.  Knowles, 
who  was  as  eagerly  interested  as  any  of  the 
boys,  was  stirred  to  tender  laughter  over  some 
of  the  gifts,  such  as  the  jewel-box  that  one 
boy  had  made  for  his  mother,  whose  only 
"  jewels "  were  her  seven  children — and  the 
paperknife  another  had  whittled  out  for  his 
father,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write;  but 
she  looked  through  a  mist  of  tears  at  the  cheap 
toys  the  "little  father"  of  three  had  bought 
with  his  few  hard-earned  pennies,  and  at  the 
vivid  salmon-pink  ribbon  another  had  hung  on 
the  tree  for  his  lame  sister.  And  Mack — Mack 
had  laboured  long  over  the  making  of  a  puzzle- 
box  which,  with  the  air  of  one  accustomed  to 
the  bestowal  of  gifts,  he  presented  to  Mrs. 
Knowles.  And  Tony  Trudo  was  there,  by  vir- 
tue of  a  half-dozen  clothes-pins  of  his  own 
manufacture,  which  he  coldly  dumped  into  the 
lap  of  Elizabeth,  who  happened  to  be  sitting 
near  him.  Tony  carried  himself  with  an  air  of 
aloofness,  condescending  to  no  enthusiasm  over 
the  tree  or  the  occasion;  but  Bryan  could  be 
very  patient  with  him,  remembering  the  con- 
venient little  case  of  drawers  he  had  made  for 
Tommy  O'Brien's  Christmas  gift,  and  Tommy's 
unspeakable  delight  therein. 

And  Black  Jim  was  there  in  a  corner,  so  quiet 
that  Bryan  had  to  seek  him  out.  The  gift  that 
secured  him  entrance  was  a  yardstick,  which  he 
had  been  asked  to  make  for  Mrs.  Knowles.  Jim 
had  not  acquired  much  skill  in  the  use  of  tools, 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET   179 

but  he  did  make  that,  and  Bryan  was  glad  to 
see  him  there  at  all. 

At  first,  the  boys  had  manifested  but  a  luke- 
warm interest  in  the  gifts,  which  is  not  sur- 
prising, since  most  of  them  were  poor  cheap 
things,  made  or  given  simply  because  a  gift 
must  be  made  by  every  boy  who  wanted  to 
have  a  share  in  the  festivities  of  the  evening; 
but  when  Bryan  began  to  hand  out  Mrs. 
Knowles'  gifts,  and  every  boy  found  himself 
remembered,  there  was  a  swift  change  of  senti- 
ment. So  it  seemed  that  it  wasn't  "  only  jest 
girls  "  that  Mother  Knowles  was  interested  in — 
she  thought  something  of  the  boys  too. 

The  hard,  coarse,  young  faces  softened  as  they 
looked  at  her,  and  when  the  last  parcel  had 
been  taken  from  the  tree,  Mack  suddenly  sprang 
up  and  called  out : 

"  Three  cheers  for  Mother  Knowles.  Now, 
yell!"  And  yell  they  did  till  the  rafters  rang. 

And  after  that  Mack  darted  out  into  the  shop, 
and  came  hurrying  back  with  a  huge  bundle  tied 
up  with  much  paper  and  string,  which  he  de- 
posited on  the  floor  beside  Bryan. 

"  It's  your  prisint — from  the  Christmas  com- 
mittee," he  announced,  and  then  stood  aside  and 
waited  for  the  wrappings  to  be  removed.  Be- 
ing removed,  there  was  disclosed  an  immense 
vase  of  imitation  bronze,  decorated  with  a  big 
bow  of  flaming  yellow  ribbon,  to  which  was 
pinned  a  slip  of  paper  bearing  the  names  of  the 
members  of  the  committee. 


180  THEODORE  BRYAN 

The  vase  itself  was  a  hideous  thing,  but  to 
Bryan  it  was  beautiful  because  of  what  the  gift 
signified;  and  as  he  thanked  the  givers,  there 
was  that  in  his  face  and  his  voice  that  went 
straight  to  the  hearts  of  those  rough  lads,  and 
strengthened  mightily  his  influence  over  them. 

"  He's  white,  that's  what !  He's  white  clear 
through,"  muttered  Tom  Brown  in  Mack's  ear, 
and  Mack,  for  once  forgetting  himself,  nodded 
prompt  agreement. 

Then  Bryan  announced  that  there  was  some 
cake  and  ice-cream  in  the  other  room,  and 
called  for  volunteers  to  help  serve  it,  and 
instantly  every  boy  in  the  room  volunteered. 
When  plates  had  been  filled  and  emptied,  some 
of  them  twice  over,  the  boys  gathered  quietly 
about  the  fire,  and  Bryan  told  them  a  Christ- 
mas story,  and  after  that  Bennie  brought  out 
his  violin.  The  boys  dearly  loved  Bennie's 
music.  Even  the  roughest  and  hardest  of  them 
could  not  wholly  resist  that  spell,  for  Bennie 
had  the  magic  fingers  that  could  play  on  heart- 
strings as  well  as  fiddle-strings,  and  he  was 
never  happier  than  when  he  was  there,  playing 
to  Theodore's  boys  in  the  firelight.  One  old 
favourite  after  another,  the  boys  called  for — 
some,  witching  strains  that  set  young  feet  a-tap- 
ping — some  soft,  tender,  old  melodies  that 
thrilled  the  young  hearts  and  awakened  in  them 
longings  for  something  better  and  purer  than 
their  hard  and  evil  lives  had  known.  And  then, 
to  an  accompaniment  so  low  and  slight  as  hardly 


CHRISTMAS  ON  SABIN  STREET   181 

to  be  noticed,  Bennie  began  to  sing.  He  had 
been  for  years  a  member  of  one  of  the  church 
choirs,  and  his  voice,  sweet  and  true,  held  the 
restless  boys  as  in  a  spell.  "  Oh,  Little  Town 
of  Bethlehem!  "  he  sang;  and  then,  "The  Holy 
City." 

They  did  not  ask  for  more;  but  when  the 
last  low  notes  died  slowly  into  silence,  the  boys 
rose  quietly  and  went  away,  carrying  with  them 
a  new  conception  of  the  meaning  of  Christmas. 


XI 

DELLA 

BRYAN,  coming  quickly  out  of  an  office  one 
January  morning,  nearly  ran  into  a  tall, 
white-haired     man     who     was     passing 
through  the  hall.     As  he  lifted  his  hat  with  a 
word   of  apology,  the  gentleman  stopped  and 
said  slowly: 

"  There  is  something  in  your  face  that  seems 
half  familiar  to  me.  Is  your  name  one  that  I 
ought  to  remember  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure  that  you  ever  knew  my  name, 
Mr.  Harris,"  Bryan  returned.  "If  you  ever 
did,  you  must  have  forgotten  it  years  ago.  I 
am  Theodore  Bryan." 

"  Theodore  Bryan,"  the  other  repeated,  shak- 
ing his  head.  "  No,  that  tells  me  nothing,  yet 
I  seldom  forget  a  face,  and  I  am  sure  I  ought  to 
know  you.  Won't  you  step  into  my  office  here 
and  enlighten  me  ?  " 

Bryan  followed  him  across  the  hall  and  into 
a  large  room  where  a  number  of  clerks  were 
at  work.  A  throng  of  memories  swept  over 
him  as  he  passed  through  to  the  private  office 
and  took  the  seat  indicated  by  Mr.  Harris. 
182 


BELLA  183 

"  Now  then,"  said  that  gentleman,  seating 
himself,  "  perhaps  you  can  clear  up  the  mys- 
tery— or  satisfy  my  curiosity." 

Bryan  smiled  as  he  asked,  "  Who  cleans  your 
brass  signs  now,  Mr.  Harris?" 

"  Ah — now  I  know.  A  plucky  little  shaver 
you  were,  too.  But  the  name  had  quite  slipped 
out  of  my  memory.  Bryan,  you  say  it  is  ?  " 

"Theodore  Bryan— "Tode '  Bryan  in  those 
days." 

"  That's  it— Tode  Bryan."  Mr.  Harris  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 
"  Well  now,  it  certainly  is  queer  that  I  should 
have  run  across  you  again  just  at  this  time,  for 
I've  thought  of  you  a  great  many  times,  espe- 
cially in  these  recent  years.  But  let  that  wait. 
It's  quite  evident  that  you  are  no  longer  in  the 
brass-cleaning  business.  I'd  like  to  know  what 
you  are  doing.  Tell  me  the  whole  story,  for  I'm 
sure  you  have  one." 

"  Not  much  of  one,"  Bryan  returned,  and  told 
briefly  of  his  struggle  for  an  education.  Mr. 
Harris  listened  with  close  attention. 

"  So,"  he  said  when  the  story  was  told, 
"  you've  not  only  earned  an  honest  living,  but  an 
education,  too.  And  now,  what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  your  education — what  are  you  doing  ?  " 

"  Helping  to  make  honest  American  citizens," 
was  the  quick  reply;  and  then  Bryan  told  of  the 
great  disappointment  that  had  changed  all  his 
life-plans,  and  of  the  work  he  had  now  under- 
taken. 


184  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  But  haven't  you  any  personal  ambitions  ?  " 
Mr.  Harris  questioned  curiously.  "  A  young 
man  with  your  education  and  ability  ought  to  be 
able  to  climb  high.  There  are  plenty  of  posi- 
tions carrying  good  fat  salaries  waiting  for 
young  men  with  brains,  and  character,  and  busi- 
ness ability,  in  these  days." 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I  was  with  the  Marston  Com- 
pany for  two  years." 

"  Edward  A.  Marston,  of  New  York?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bryan. 

"  And  why  didn't  you  stay  there  ?  " 

Bryan  answered  gravely,  "  Who  was  it  that 
said  he  could  not  afford  to  spend  his  life  making 
money?  I  couldn't  afford  to  spend  mine  so." 

Mr.  Harris  pondered  that  in  silence  for  a 
moment ;  then  he  suggested,  "  Yet  money  is 
necessary  even  to  carry  on  such  work  as  you  are 
doing  now." 

"Yes,  that's  what  I'm  after  to-day,"  Bryan 
answered,  with  his  quick  flashing  smile,  "  but  the 
money  always  comes.  Mr.  Hayes  gave  me  that 
just  now."  He  took  a  check  from  his  pocket- 
book  and  held  it  out. 

Mr.  Harris  noted  the  fact  that  the  check  was 
drawn  for  five  hundred  dollars,  and  Bryan  ex- 
plained that  the  business  he  had  established  on 
Sabin  Street  was  growing  so  rapidly  that  more 
space  and  more  capital  were  needed,  and  several 
men  who  were  interested  in  social  and  industrial 
experiments  among  the  poor  had  offered  to  ad- 
vance the  money  required.  He  had  a  chance  to 


BELLA  185 

rent  one  of  the  small  houses  adjoining  Green 
Tree  House,  and  was  planning  to  turn  it  into 
shop-room  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Harris  again,  "  haven't  you 
any  personal  plans?  A  young  man  generally 
looks  forward  to  having  his  own  home  and 
family.  You  seem  to  be  shutting  yourself  out 
from  all  that — at  least  for  a  good  many  years  to 
come." 

"  Yes,"  Bryan  assented,  "  I  am.  But  you  see, 
Mr.  Harris,  my  life  has  been  different  from  most 
others.  Such  a  girl  as  I  might  choose  would 
never  think  of  marrying  a  fellow  like  me,  who 
doesn't  even  know  who  his  parents  were — and 
the  kind  that  would  marry  me  has  no  attraction 
for  me.  So  I  have  put  all  that  aside.  I  shall 
never  marry." 

"  But  you  will  not  always  be  young  and  strong 
as  you  are  now.  You  should  make  some  pro- 
vision for  old  age.  It  will  come,  though  it  seems 
so  far  away  from  you  now." 

Again  that  rare  smile  flashed  over  the  plain, 
earnest  face  of  the  young  man.  "  The  One  for 
whom  I  am  working  will  take  care  of  all  that," 
Bryan  said  with  quiet  conviction. 

For  a  moment  after  that  neither  spoke;  then 
Mr.  Harris  said,  "  Bryan,  I'm  a  lonely  old  fellow. 
My  wife  and  children  are  gone,  and  I've  more 
money  than  I  shall  ever  use,  though  I  am  not  a 
rich  man  as  riches  are  counted  in  these  days. 
But  now  and  then  I  choose  to  make  an  invest- 
ment for  somebody  else,  and  years  ago,  when  you 


186  THEODORE  BRYAN 

used  to  keep  our  signs  here  shining,  I  began  to 
take  an  interest  in  you.  I  like  to  help  boys  who 
help  themselves;  not  the  limp,  clammy  sort  that 
haven't  enough  backbone  to  stand  without  lean- 
ing on  somebody  else.  I  used  to  keep  a  sharp 
eye  on  you  when  you  were  a  homely  little 
freckle-faced  ragamuffin,  and  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  you'd  amount  to  something  some  time. 
So  one  day — years  ago,  as  I  said — I  invested  a 
little  money  for  you.  I  didn't  remember 
your  name,  so  I  dubbed  you  John  Doe,  intending 
to  find  out  your  real  name — I  knew  '  Tode  '  was 
a  nickname — but  just  about  that  time  you 
stopped  coming  to  the  office;  and  then  I  had  to 
go  abroad  on  business  for  a  year,  and  before  I 
came  back,  the  matter  somehow  slipped  out  of 
my  mind,  and  when  I  did  recall  it,  I  couldn't  get 
track  of  you  anywhere.  So  in  John  Doe's  name 
that  stock  stands  to-day.  If  I  had  not  run  across 
you  again,  it  would,  at  my  death,  have  gone  to 
some  charity.  Now  it  is  yours.  What  is  to  be 
done  with  it?  If  you  let  it  remain  where  it  is, 
it  will  be  a  comfortable  provision  for  the  days 
when  '  the  grasshopper  will  be  a  burden.'  What 
do  you  say  ?  " 

Over  Bryan's  face  many  swift  changes  of  ex- 
pression had  passed  while  he  listened  to  this  most 
amazing  story;  now  his  voice  was  not  quite 
steady  as  he  answered,  "  I  wish,  Mr.  Harris,  that 
I  could  make  you  understand  how  deeply  I  am 
touched  by  your  great  kindness — a  kindness  so 
totally  unexpected  that  I  can  hardly  believe  it  to 


BELLA  187 

be  real.  I  didn't  suppose  there  was  a  person  in 
the  world  who  would  ever  think  of  making  any 
such  provision  for  me.  But  don't  you  see,  sir — 
this  simply  proves  to  me  that  I  need  not  worry 
about  the  future  ?  I  shall  certainly  be  taken  care 
of,  and  this  money  would  mean  so  much — so 
very  much — for  my  boys.  Would  you  be  willing 
that  it  should  be  used  for  them  ?  " 

"  It  is  your  own  to  do  with  as  you  will." 

"  But  I  want  it  to  be  as  you  will." 

Mr.  Harris  laughed,  but  the  laugh  covered 
some  deeper  feeling. 

"If  it  will  please  you  most  to  throw  it  away 
on  a  pack  of  thankless  street  arabs — why,  do  so. 
You  can  draw  on  me  at  your  pleasure  for  ten 
thousand  dollars,"  he  replied. 

When,  half  an  hour  later,  Bryan  left  the  office, 
he  felt  as  if  he  were  walking  on  air.  Now  the 
way  was  plain  and  straight  for  the  enlargement 
of  his  work.  One  plan  after  another  flashed 
through  his  mind,  plans  that  until  now  he  had 
not  dared  to  hope  could  be  carried  out  for  years 
to  come.  But  now  there  need  be  no  long  wait- 
ing. A  great  joy  filled  his  heart  as  he  went  back 
to  Green  Tree  House. 

It  was  that  same  day  that  Mrs.  Knowles,  busy 
over  some  sewing,  failed  to  hear  her  door  open 
very  gently,  or  the  light  footsteps  that  came 
swiftly  towards  her.  But  when  two  hands 
dropped  lightly  over  her  eyes  from  behind  her 
chair,  and  a  muffled  voice  demanded,  "  Guess 
who  it  is !  "  she  answered  instantly. 


188  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  I  don't  have  to  guess — I  know.  Come 
around  where  I  can  see  you,  child." 

"  But  how  did  you  know,  Mother  Knowles  ?  " 
Marjorie  questioned,  as  she  drew  a  hassock  to 
her  favourite  place  at  her  friend's  knee. 

"  You  can't  disguise  your  voice,  nor  your  soft 
fingers.  Do  you  suppose  that  I  have  any  other 
visitor  like  you  here,  child  ?  " 

Marjorie's  head  dropped  for  a  moment  on 
Mrs.  Knowles'  knee  with  a  swift  caressing  move- 
ment ;  then  she  lifted  it  and  said,  "  I've  come 
a-begging,  Mother  Knowles." 

"  Well,  you  can  have  it,  of  course." 

"  Have  what  ?  "  laughed  the  girl. 

"  Whatever  you  want — if  I  have  it,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  replied,  as  she  laid  a  tender  hand  on  the 
thick  dark  hair  of  the  girl.  "  Don't  you  know 
that?" 

"  Ah,  but  you  don't  know  what  you  are  prom- 
ising. It  is  a  big  thing  that  I  want  this 
time." 

"  Well  ?  "  the  other  questioned  with  a  smile. 

"  I  want  to  come  here  and  stay  with  you  for  a 
whole  month.  There!  I  told  you  it  was  a  big 
thing.  If  it  is  too  big,  please  say  so — I'll  under- 
stand. I  know  you  can't  want  to  be  bothered 
with  me  for  so  long." 

"  Child,  don't  you  know  that  I'd  love  to  have 
you?  But  tell  me  why  you  want  to  come." 

"Why?"  Marjorie  repeated  slowly.  "For 
ever  so  many  reasons.  I'm  tired  of  the  social 
whirl.  I  like  people — some  people "  she 


DELLA  189 

added,  with  a  flash  of  fun  in  her  eyes,  "  but  I 
don't  like  society,  at  least  not  in  big  doses.  I've 
had  a  plenty  of  it  for  the  present  and  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  starving  for  some  real  people.  Even 
some  of  your  Sabin  Street  people  will  be  rather 
refreshing  for  a  change.  Then  Uncle  Edward 
has  gone  to  the  Pacific  Coast  on  a  long  business 
trip  and  it  was  lonesome  at  home,  and  I  didn't 
want  to  go  again  to  Helm  House,  and  I  did  want 
to  come  here — and  be  mothered.  That's  all. 
Now,  may  I  stay  ?  " 

"  Dear  child,  as  if  you  needed  to  ask !  "  Mrs. 
Knowles'  face  was  beaming.  "  A  whole  month ! 
But  if  you  get  tired  of  Elizabeth  and  me  and 
Green  Tree  House,  you  must  not  feel  bound  to 
stay  the  month  out,  you  know." 

"  I  know,"  the  girl  nodded  gaily,  "  and  I  won't 
feel  bound."  Then  over  her  bright  face  a  swift 
change  passed,  and  she  spoke  earnestly.  "  Dear 
Mother  Knowles,  I  wonder  sometimes  what  kind 
of  queer  spirit  has  gotten  into  me  lately,  but  it  is 
something  that  will  not  let  me  be  content  to 
dance  through  the  years  and  think  of  nothing 
but  good  times.  And  yet,  I'm  so  selfish  and 
lazy,  or  something — that  I  can't  make  up  my 
mind  to  spend  my  time  as  Teddy  and  Theodore 
Bryan  and  you  do — just  living  all  for  other 
people.  I  want  some  happiness  for  myself — real 
happiness,  not  just  fun  and  gaiety.  I'm  afraid 
you  can't  understand " 

Mrs.  Knowles  nodded.  "  I  think  I  understand, 
dear,  for  though  I  am  getting  old  now,  I  was  a 


190  THEODORE  BRYAN 

girl  once,  and  I  have  not  forgotten  how  a  girl 
feels,  and  wonders  and  suffers.  Stay  with  me 
as  long  or  as  short  a  time  as  you  like.  You  will 
be  dearly  welcome,  and  there  will  be  no  one  to 
blame  you  or  find  fault  whatever  you  do  or  don't 
do." 

"  Ah,  what  a  dear  Mother  Knowles  you  are !  " 
the  girl  sighed ;  and  then  for  a  long  time  she  was 
silent,  looking  into  the  fire  with  eyes  full  of 
troubled  thought,  while  Mrs.  Knowles,  leaving 
her  to  herself,  sewed  on  as  if  she  had  been  quite 
alone. 

For  two  days  Mar j  one  Armstrong  stayed 
quietly  in  the  pleasant  rooms  reading  a  little,  em- 
broidering a  little,  playing  with  Elizabeth,  and 
teasing  Duffer,  who  adored  her.  She  helped 
Mrs.  Knowles  with  her  dainty  cooking  and 
housekeeping,  and  looked  on  and  listened  silently 
when  the  girls  or  their  mothers  came  for  help  or 
counsel,  and  there  was  never  a  day  when  some 
did  not  come. 

Then  one  evening  Theodore  Bryan  came  to 
ask  Mrs.  Knowles  if  she  would  go  with  him  to 
see  a  girl  whose  baby  was  dying. 

"  It  is  that  Delia  Pruden  I've  told  you  about— 
you  remember  ? "  he  said.  "  A  strange,  pas- 
sionate creature  she  is ;  she  seems  to  care  for  no 
one  else  in  the  world,  so  far  as  I  can  find 
out,  but  she  fairly  worships  her  baby,  and  I'm 
really  afraid  she  will  kill  herself  when  it 
dies." 

"There  is  no  hope  for  it?"  Mrs.  Knowles 


She  helped  Mrs.  Knowles  with  her  dainty  cooking  and 
housekeeping 


DELLA  191 

questioned,  as  she  stepped  about  in  her  swift 
capable  way,  collecting  some  things  that  she 
thought  might  be  needed. 

"  No,  the  doctor  says  it  cannot  live  the  night 
out,"  Bryan  answered. 

"  Oh,  the  poor  mother !  I  know — I  know," 
Mrs.  Knowles  said  under  her  breath,  as  she 
flung  on  her  wraps.  "  I'm  ready  now.  Is  it 
far?" 

"  Only  four  squares.  I — Good-evening,  Miss 
Armstrong,"  to  Marjorie,  who  came  in  then  from 
the  other  room. 

"  I'm  going  too,  Mother  Knowles,"  the  girl 
said  in  a  low  tone.  "  No,  don't  say  anything. 
I  am  going." 

"  Very  well,  then,"  Mrs.  Knowles  agreed 
quietly.  "  Are  you  warmly  dressed  ?  Yes,  I 
see.  Come,  then,"  and  the  three  went  out  to- 
gether. 

It  was  a  bitter  winter  night,  with  a  cutting 
wind  that  felt  as  if  it  had  blown  over  miles  of 
ice  and  snow.  Even  in  her  fur-lined  coat,  Mar- 
jorie shivered  as  she  hurried  along  the  dark 
street,  clinging  to  Mrs.  Knowles'  arm.  Hardly 
a  word  was  spoken  by  any  of  the  three  as  they 
went.  Only  once  Mrs.  Knowles  asked  in  a  low 
tone,  "  Where  is  the  father  ? "  and  Bryan  an- 
swered :  "  I  don't  know — Delia  has  been  sup- 
porting herself  and  the  child.  This  is  the 
place." 

Up  three  flights  of  stairs  they  went — stairs 
that  would  have  been  quite  dark  but  for  the 


192  THEODORE  BRYAN 

lantern  that  Bryan  carried.  On  the  fourth  floor 
he  knocked  softly  before  he  opened  the  door,  and 
the  three  passed  in. 

Marjorie  dropped  into  a  chair  in  the  darkest 
corner  of  the  room,  but  Mrs.  Knowles  went 
straight  across  to  the  narrow  bed  on  which  the 
baby  lay.  The  mother,  on  her  knees  beside  it, 
with  one  arm  thrown  across  the  little  form,  did 
not  so  much  as  turn  her  head  to  see  who  had 
come. 

Marjorie  gave  one  swift  glance  around  the 
bare,  cheerless  room,  then  her  eyes  were  held  by 
the  tragedy  in  the  face  of  the  young  mother. 
The  wide  black  eyes  seemed  to  burn  with  a 
sombre  fire.  With  her  white  lips  and  pinched 
nostrils,  the  mother  looked  scarcely  less  death- 
like than  the  child  over  whom  she  bent.  Now 
and  then  she  gave  a  low  moaning  cry  like  that 
of  an  animal  in  pain,  but  she  did  not  look  up 
or  answer  when  .Bryan  spoke  to  her.  Mrs. 
Knowles  did  not  speak.  After  one  quick 
glance  at  the  baby  face,  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
mother's  shoulder  and  stood  silent.  Her  experi- 
enced eyes  had  told  her  that  the  end  was  near, 
and  in  fact  they  had  not  been  ten  minutes  in  the 
room,  when  the  fluttering  breath  ceased,  and  the 
spirit  was  gone. 

The  mother  did  not  move  until  Mrs.  Knowles, 
stooping,  gently  closed  the  lids  over  the  baby's 
blue  eyes.  Then,  with  a  wild  cry,  the  girl  started 
up,  roughly  striking  aside  the  kind  hand  from  the 
little  face. 


BELLA  193 

"You  shan't,  you  shan't!  She  isn't  dead!" 
she  cried  out.  "  I  tell  you  she  is  not  dead !  Oh, 
my  baby,  my  baby !  There  couldn't  be  any  One 
so  cruel  as  to  take  my  baby  away  from  me  when 
I  love  her  so.  She  isn't  dead — she's  only  sleep- 
ing— my  baby !  "  Leaning  over  the  child,  she 
lifted  one  tiny  hand — there  was  no  mistaking  the 
lifeless  weight  of  it.  With  a  low,  wild  cry,  she 
sprang  up  and  would  have  fled  from  the  room 
if  Bryan  had  not  stepped  before  the  door  and 
stayed  her. 

"  Let  me  go.  Let  me  go !  "  she  cried,  her  eyes 
fierce  and  threatening.  "  What  have  I  got  to 
live  for  now  ?  I  won't  live !  I  can't  live !  Let 
me  go,  I  say." 

"  Dear  child," — it  was  Mrs.  Knowles'  gentle 
voice  that  spoke  to  the  frantic  creature, — "  dear 
child,  you  wouldn't  go  and  leave  that  precious 
little  body  for  others  to  care  for?  You  want  to 
do  yourself  all  there  is  to  do  for  your  baby — I 
know  you  do — for  I've  lost  a  little  baby,  too. 
And  maybe  you'll  let  me  help  you  a  little,  with 
these  things  that  I  have  here " 

She  took  from  her  bag  some  tiny  lace-trimmed 
garments,  with  soft  linen  cloths  and  fragrant 
soap.  For  a  moment  the  mother  stood  rigid,  her 
eyes  terrible  to  see;  then  suddenly  she  turned 
back  and  flung  herself  down  again  beside  the 
child,  and  buried  her  face  in  the  pillow.  In  her 
dark  corner,  Marjorie  looked  on,  the  tears  run- 
ning down  her  cheeks,  while  Bryan  stirred  the 
few  coals  of  fire  in  the  broken  stove  and  brought 


194  THEODORE  BRYAN 

water  from  the  faucet  in  the  hall.  When  the 
water  was  warm,  Mrs.  Knowles  again  gently 
touched  the  kneeling  figure. 

"  Sit  here,"  she  whispered,  "  and  I'll  put  the 
dear  baby  in  your  lap.  You  will  want  to  bathe 
and  dress  her  yourself." 

Without  a  word,  the  mother  did  as  she  was 
told.  Bryan  had  gone  out  again,  and  Marjorie 
still  sat  in  the  dusky  corner,  watching  with  brim- 
ming eyes  as  the  two  women  prepared  the  baby 
form  for  burial.  When  the  fresh  little  robe  was 
put  on,  and  the  short  curls  brushed  back  from 
the  white  forehead,  the  mother  caught  the  beauti- 
ful little  body  passionately  to  her  breast. 

"  I  can't  let  her  be  taken  away — oh,  I  can't !  " 
she  wailed.  "  She  was  all  I  had — all."  Then 
her  face  darkened  as  she  looked  up  at  Mrs. 
Knowles.  "  She  kept  me  good,  my  baby  did.  I 
had  to  be  good  while  I  had  her.  If  there  was  a 
God  would  He  take  away  the  one  thing  that 
could  keep  a  girl  good — say,  would  He  ?  Oh,  He 
wouldn't — He  couldn't!  There  isn't  any  God — 
there  isn't  anything  to  keep  or  help  me,  now  my 
little,  little  baby  is  gone." 

"Not  gone — only  gone  before,"  said  Mrs. 
Knowles'  low  voice.  "  The  baby  is  waiting  for 
you — over  there.  By-and-by  you  will  find  her 
again." 

"  Do  you  believe  that  ?  Do  you  believe  it  ?  " 
the  hoarse  voice  questioned  fiercely. 

"  I  believe  it  with  all  my  soul." 

For  a  long  minute  the  dark,  passionate  eyes, 


DELLA  195 

full  of  woeful  sorrow,  searched  the  older 
woman's  face,  seeking  the  truth. 

"  Yes,"  the  girl  said  at  last,  "  yes,  you  believe 
it.  Whether  it's  true  or  not,  you  believe  it." 
Then  with  a  sudden,  swift  motion  she  bared  her 
breast  and  laid  the  baby  face  against  it,  pressing 
it  close  with  such  a  look  of  passionate  love  and 
agony,  that  Mrs.  Knowles  turned  her  head  hastily 
aside  to  hide  her  tears,  and  Marjorie  drew  a 
quick,  sobbing  breath.  The  sound  caught  the 
other  girl's  attention.  She  turned,  and  for  the 
first  time  became  aware  of  Marjorie's  presence. 

"Who  are  you?  What  are  you  here  for?" 
she  demanded,  her  voice  harsh  and  her  eyes  full 
of  anger. 

In  an  instant  Marjorie  was  kneeling  beside  her. 
"  I'm  here  because  I'm  so  sorry — oh,  so  sorry 
for  you !  "  she  whispered  pleadingly. 

"  Sorry ! "  echoed  the  other  fiercely.  "  Who 
wants  you  to  be  sorry  for  me?  I  don't.  What 
do  girls  like  you  know  about — anything?  Oh, 
yes,  you  think  you  are  '  sorry '  for  me,  but  to 
such  as  you  I'm  nothing  but  the  scum  of  the 
earth — don't  I  know  that?  If  I'd  been  watched 
and  cared  for  like  you,  mebbe  I'd  have  been  as 
fine  an'  dainty  an'  innocent  as  you  are  to-day; 
an'  if  you'd  been  in  my  shoes  mebbe  you  wouldn't 
have  been  a  mite  better'n  I  be."  Then  her  eyes 
fell  again  on  the  little  white  face  at  her  breast, 
and  instantly  the  savage  fire  died  out  of  them. 
She  put  out  her  hand  blindly  and  pushed  Mar- 
jorie roughly  away  from  her.  "  Go  away.  Go 


196  THEODORE  BRYAN 

away.  What  do  I  care  for  you  anyhow  when 
my  baby  is  gone — my  little,  little  baby?  God! 
How  I  loved  her!  Oh,  how  can  I  live  without 
her?  How  can  I  ever  sleep  again  without  her 
dear  little  soft  fingers  creeping  over  my  breast? 
Oh,  God— oh,  God!" 

A  long  silence  followed  that  wailing  anguished 
cry.  Marjorie  crept  silently  back  to  her  corner. 
Then  soft  and  low — so  low  that  Marjorie  had  to 
strain  her  ears  to  hear  it,  Mrs.  Knowles'  voice 
broke  the  silence.  She  was  praying,  but  it  was 
such  prayer  as  Marjorie  had  never  heard  before. 
It  made  her  realise  what  was  meant  by  "  com- 
munion with  the  Father."  It  was  the  appeal  of  a 
child  to  the  Father  in  whose  love  and  wisdom 
and  power  she  had  absolute  faith.  From  that 
hour  the  word  "  prayer  "  had  a  new  meaning  to 
Marjorie  Armstrong. 

The  mother  sat  as  motionless  as  her  dead  child. 
Did  she  hear  and  understand?  They  could  not 
tell,  but  at  least  she  did  not  again  break  out  into 
passion  and  bitterness. 

When  an  hour  later  Bryan  returned,  Mrs. 
Knowles  had  prevailed  upon  the  mother  to  lie 
down  beside  her  baby  on  the  bed,  and  almost  in- 
stantly she  had  fallen  into  the  deep  sleep  of  utter 
exhaustion. 

"  Thank  God  for  that — it  may  save  her,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  whispered.  "  Now,  Theodore,  you 
must  take  Marjorie  home.  I  shall  stay  here  till 
morning.  Don't  worry  about  me — I  can  doze  in 
this  chair,  but  you'd  better  bring  over  some 


BELLA  197 

breakfast  in  the  morning.  That  poor  girl  must 
eat." 

So  through  the  cold,  silent,  dimly-lighted 
streets,  Marjorie  went  with  Theodore  Bryan. 
But  few  words  passed  between  them,  for  the 
thoughts  of  both  were  with  the  two  they  had 
left.  Such  scenes  were  not  new  to  Bryan — he 
had  seen  many;  but  Marjorie  felt  as  if  she 
were  in  a  new  strange  world,  where  joy  and  com- 
fort were  unknown  terms.  Even  there,  however, 
there  was  love,  pure  and  mighty  enough  to  hold 
a  tempted  soul  from  sin. 

When  Marjorie  found  herself  alone  in  Mrs. 
Knowles'  rooms,  she  looked  about  her  with  a 
little  nervous  shiver.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her 
life  that  she  had  been  so  alone  at  night. 

"  But  I'm  not  alone  either,"  she  reminded  her- 
self. "  There  is  Elizabeth — and  Duffer,  and  I 
won't  be  a  silly  goose." 

She  went  softly  in  and  looked  at  Elizabeth 
sound  asleep  in  her  little  white  bed,  then  feeling 
very  wide  awake  herself,  she  kindled  a  fire  in  the 
living-room  and  drawing  up  a  big  chair  sat  down 
before  the  hearth  with  Duffer  curled  up  at  her 
feet.  Her  thoughts  went  back  to  that  girl  no 
older  than  herself.  The  dark,  passionate,  grief- 
ravaged  face  seemed  to  stare  at  her  out  of  the 
glowing  logs — she  could  not  forget  it.  Was  she 
sleeping  still,  Marjorie  wondered — that  heart- 
broken young  mother — and  what  would  she  do 
when  the  baby  form  was  laid  away  out  of  her 
sight? 


198  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Oh,  dear,"  Marjorie  sighed  out  once  more 
the  question  of  the  ages,  "  I  wonder  why  there 
has  to  be  so  much  sorrow  and  trouble  in  the 
world?" 

She  sat  there  thinking  until  the  grey  dawn  be- 
gan to  drive  away  the  night  shadows,  then,  with 
a  shiver,  she  crept  away  to  bed.  But  though  she 
was  soon  warm  and  comfortable  under  the  soft 
blankets,  she  could  not  sleep— could  not  wrench 
her  thoughts  away  from  that  bare  little  upper 
room  where  Mrs.  Knowles  was  keeping  watch 
over  the  living  and  the  dead. 

She  arose  early  and  had  a  basket  of  hot  food 
ready  when  Theodore  came  for  it. 

"  I  want  you  to  take  this,  too,"  she  said,  hold- 
ing out  a  roll  of  bills,  "  to  pay  for  the  funeral. 
And  please — have  everything  as  pretty  as  you 
can — a  little  white  casket  and  flowers.  It  may 
help  that  poor  girl  just  a  little.  And — where  is 
the  baby  to  be  buried?  " 

"  In  one  of  the  public  cemeteries.  The  poor 
have  no  choice,"  Bryan  answered.  But  the  girl 
cried  out  in  quick  protest. 

"  No,  no — not  in  such  a  place !  I  want  it  laid 
in  some  spot  that  will  be  green  and  shady  by- 
and-by — where  the  mother  can  go  often.  If 
there  isn't  money  enough  there  I  will  give  more." 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Armstrong.  I  will  see  that 
your  wishes  are  carried  out,"  Bryan  answered; 
and  as  he  went  away  he  was  saying  to  himself, 
"  She  is  growing.  She  is  beginning  to  think  of 
some  one  beside  herself,"  and  then  he  put  reso- 


DELLA  199 

lutely  out  of  his  mind  the  memory  of  the  dark 
eyes  misty  with  tears  that  had  just  looked  so 
earnestly  up  into  his.  That  it  required  a  strong 
effort  to  drive  the  memory  of  them  out  of  his 
mind,  made  him  the  more  determined  to  do  it. 

All  that  day  the  young  mother  sat  beside  the 
bed,  her  eyes  wide  and  tearless,  never  leaving  the 
beautiful  little  face  of  her  dead  baby.  No 
persuasions  could  induce  her  to  eat.  To  ques- 
tions and  arguments  alike  she  turned  a  deaf  ear. 
But  when,  on  the  following  day,  the  baby  was 
laid  in  the  white  casket  with  beautiful  flowers 
about  her,  the  mother's  face  lost  something  of  its 
stony  quiet,  though  still  she  spoke  no  word. 

Marjorie  Armstrong  would  never  forget  that 
funeral  in  the  bare,  comfortless  room,  crowded 
with  women  from  the  neighbouring  tenements — 
women,  most  of  them,  gaunt  and  worn,  with 
shabby  garments  and  broken  shoes,  with  faces 
hard  and  stolid  or  weak  and  discouraged.  Some 
of  them  held  babies  in  their  arms ;  and  about  the 
door  crowded  the  older  children  of  poverty,  star- 
ing with  wide-eyed  curiosity  at  the  white  casket 
and  the  flowers — at  the  rigid-faced  mother,  and 
at  the  "  folks  from  Green  Tree  House." 

The  brief  service  was  led  by  the  pastor  of  a 
nearby  mission  church — a  man  who  knew  all 
about  the  homes  and  lives  of  the  poor,  and  whose 
big  heart  held  boundless  love  and  sympathy 
for  these  hard-pressed  souls.  Marjorie's  heart 
swelled  within  her  as  she  listened  to  his  earnest, 
tender  words,  but  the  mother  sat  all  unheeding, 


200  THEODORE  BRYAN 

her  burning  eyes  never  moving  from  her  baby's 
face.  Only  when  at  last  they  covered  it  and 
lifted  the  little  casket — so  very  short  and  light  it 
was — to  carry  it  down  to  the  street — only  then 
did  the  mother  move,  following  close  with  the 
look  of  one  walking  in  a  dream  of  misery. 

They  put  the  little  coffin  in  the  carriage  with 
the  mother  and  Mrs.  Knowles,  and  Marjorie  and 
Bryan  rode  with  the  riiinister  in  a  second.  Not 
a  word  was  spoken  in  that  first  carriage  until  it 
turned  into  the  driveway  at  Forest  Hills.  Then 
for  the  first  time  that  day,  the  frozen  quiet  of 
the  young  mother's  face  was  stirred.  She  turned 
quickly  to  the  good  woman  at  her  side  and  cried 
out: 

"Oh,  what  does  it  mean?  This  isn't — that 
awful  place  where  poor  folks'  children  are  put." 

"  No,"  Mrs.  Knowles  told  her  gently,  "  Miss 
Armstrong  wanted  your  baby  laid  here  where 
you  can  come  often." 

Delia  Pruden's  lips  twitched,  and  her  eyes 
softened. 

"  If  there's  ever  anything  I  can  do  for  her,  I'd 
crawl  on  my  knees  to  do  it,"  she  said,  and  then 
she  was  silent  again. 

It  was  a  lovely  spot  that  had  been  chosen  for 
the  tiny  grave — a  spot  that  would  be  cool  and 
green  and  shady  in  the  hot  summer  days.  Even 
now  in  her  great  misery,  it  comforted  the  mother 
a  little,  and  in  the  days  to  come,  the  tiny  mound 
under  the  old  trees  was  to  be  the  Mecca  to  which 
her  weary  feet  would  carry  her  often,  for  rest, 


BELLA  201 

for  comfort,  and  for  the  gathering  of  fresh  cour- 
age for  the  hard  battle  of  her  life. 

It  was  not  at  the  door  of  the  tenement  that  the 
carriage  stopped  on  its  return  to  the  crowded 
city  streets — but  before  Green  Tree  House.  The 
white-faced  mother  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the 
steps  and  shook  her  head,  but  Mrs.  Knowles 
would  take  no  refusal. 

"  Daughter,"  she  said  with  gentle  decision, 
"  you  must  stay  with  me  to-night.  To-morrow 
you  shall  settle  about  the  days  that  are  before 
you,  but  to-night  I  must  rest,  and  you,  too. 
Come." 

The  girl  yielded  with  evident  reluctance,  but 
the  hard  lines  about  her  mouth  and  the  sombre 
shadows  in  her  eyes  did  not  lighten.  She  obeyed 
as  one  who  bided  her  time,  and  Mrs.  Knowles 
shook  her  head  sadly  as  she  led  the  way  into  the 
house.  "  The  good  Lord  only  knows  how  this 
poor  soul  is  to  be  held,"  she  said  to  herself  more 
than  once  as  she  saw  the  misery  in  the  face  so 
young,  yet  so  plainly  branded  with  the  marks  of 
hard  and  sad  experience. 


XII 

THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE 

FOR  one  day  Mrs.  Knowles  succeeded  in 
keeping  Delia  Pruden.  Strong  as  she 
was,  her  days  and  nights  of  watching  dur- 
ing the  baby's  sickness,  and  her  passionate  re- 
bellious grief  over  its  loss,  had  exhausted  her 
body  and  spirit.  But  she  was  young,  and  the 
brief  rest  restored  her  strength,  and  the  second 
morning  found  her  restless  and  uneasy.  She 
talked  little  even  to  Mrs.  Knowles — to  Marjorie 
she  would  not  talk  at  all.  Her  gratitude  for  what 
the  girl  had  done  for  her  baby  had  withered 
quickly  as  she  realised  Marjorie's  all-unconscious 
attitude  towards  her.  The  proud  spirit  of  the 
daughter  of  poverty  resented  fiercely  the  feeling 
that  the  other  girl  all  unconsciously  revealed. 
Marjorie  was  willing  to  help — to  give  generously 
— but  in  her  giving  she  reached  down,  not  out — 
and  Delia  Pruden  was  not  one  of  those  who  are 
content  to  accept  condescending  kindness  from 
any  one.  She  shut  her  heart  and  lips,  and  cast 
dark  glances  at  the  girl  who  had  everything  that 
she — Delia  Pruden — had  not,  and  Marjorie,  not 
understanding,  perplexedly  wondered  over  it. 
The  second  morning  after  breakfast,  Delia  de- 
202 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   203 

clared  that  she  could  stay  no  longer.  "  You've 
been  good  to  me,"  she  said  to  Mrs.  Knowles, 
"  but  I've  got  to  get  to  work.  I  can't  stay  idle 
any  longer.  I " 

She  turned  as  the  door  flew  open,  and  little 
Annie  Neal  appeared  on  the  threshold  her  face 
white  as  chalk,  her  wide-open  eyes  full  of  a  blind 
terror. 

"  I've  come  for  you,"  she  cried  out  to  Mrs. 
Knowles,  in  a  pitiful,  choked  voice.  "  Mummy 
sent  me.  She's — she's  dying." 

"  Not  your  mother,  Annie !  "  Mrs.  Knowles 
exclaimed,  putting  her  arms  closely  about  the 
little  trembling  figure. 

Annie  shook  her  head.  "  No,  no !  "  she  sobbed 
out,  "  not  mummy — it's  Mis'  Shanley.  He 
knocked  her  down — her  man  did — her  'n'  the 
baby,  and  mummy  says  they're  goin'  to  die,  and 
won't  you  come — quick  ?  " 

"  I'll  go  this  minute,"  Mrs.  Knowles  replied. 
"  Marjorie,  you  keep  Annie  here.  That  is  no 
place  for  her."  She  added  the  last  words  in  a 
whisper. 

Annie  was  quite  willing  to  stay,  and  in  two 
minutes  Mrs.  Knowles  was  hurrying  down  the 
steps.  As  she  reached  the  sidewalk  she  found 
Delia  Pruden  at  her  side.  She  nodded  ap- 
proval. 

"Yes,  you  may  be  needed,"  she  said  quietly. 

Delia's  brows  were  drawn  together  in  a  black 
frown.  "  It  ain't  the  woman.  She's  nothing  but 
a  rag — that  Shanley  woman,"  she  muttered  be- 


204  THEODORE  BRYAN 

tween  her  teeth,  "  but  if  the  baby  ain't  dead " 

She  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  but  Mrs. 
Knowles  understood. 

About  the  door  of  the  house  they  found  a 
group  of  idle  men  discussing  the  tragedy. 

"  Where  is  Shanley  ? "  Mrs.  Knowles  asked 
one  of  them,  and  was  told  that  he  had  been  ar- 
rested, and  would  be  held  for  trial. 

The  two  women  went  up  the  stairs  to  the 
room  where  the  Shanleys  lived.  In  the  dark, 
narrow  hallway,  half  a  dozen  frowsy  women, 
whispering  with  heads  together,  stared  at  the 
newcomers,  and  silently  made  way  for  them  to 
pass,  craning  their  necks  to  peer  curiously  into 
the  room  as  the  door  was  opened.  There  were 
two  rooms.  On  one  of  the  beds  lay  the  woman, 
a  district  nurse,  in  blue  and  white,  leaning  over 
her.  A  second  nurse  was  trying  to  quiet  the 
baby,  whose  monotonous  wailing  cry  filled  the 
place.  Only  the  oldest  of  the  children,  a  girl  of 
thirteen,  was  there ;  the  others  had  been  banished 
to  the  streets  that  the  rooms  might  be  more 
quiet. 

Mrs.  Knowles  drew  one  of  the  nurses  aside 
and  asked  a  few  questions. 

"  There  is  no  hope  for  the  mother,"  she  was 
told.  "  The  doctor  has  just  gone  to  see  about 
getting  her  into  the  hospital  where  she'll  have 
better  care  than  she  could  here;  but  it  is 
only  a  question  of  time,  and  probably  a  very 
short  time  at  that.  It  is  concussion  of  the  brain. 
The  baby  may  live — we  can't  tell  yet." 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE  205 

"  Poor  little  thing !  One  might  almost 

hope "  Mrs.  Knowles  said,  and  the  nurse 

nodded  quick  understanding. 

"  Yes,  it  seems  as  if  it  would  be  better,  for  it's 
a  sickly  little  creature  anyhow." 

As  she  spoke  the  wailing  cry  suddenly  ceased, 
and  the  two  women  turned  to  see  Delia  Pruden 
holding  the  child  to  her  breast. 

"If  anything  will  save  the  baby  it  will  be  that. 
We  haven't  been  able  to  make  it  take  any  food," 
the  nurse  whispered,  and  Mrs.  Knowles  added 
softly : 

"  And  it  may  save  that  girl  as  well.  Her  own 
baby  was  buried  two  days  ago." 

"  It  is  strange,  too,"  the  nurse  commented, 
"  for  one  of  the  women  in  the  house  tried  to 
feed  the  baby  so,  and  could  not." 

Mrs.  Knowles,  watching  the  two,  turned  sud- 
denly aside.  The  mingling  of  sorrow  and  pity 
in  Delia  Pruden's  strong  face,  as  it  bent  over  the 
child  in  her  arms,  made  the  good  woman's  heart 
ache  with  sympathy. 

"  It's  the  only  way,"  she  thought,  "  and  it's  the 
old  law  of  love.  In  giving  to  that  wretched  little 
worse-than-orphaned  creature,  she  may  heal  her 
own  sore  heart.  God  grant  it.  At  any  rate  it 
will  help  her  through  these  first  hard,  empty 
days." 

The  woman  on  the  bed  lay  motionless  and 
silent.  "  She  has  not  moved  or  spoken  since  she 
fell,  her  head  hitting  the  stove,"  the  nurse  ex- 
plained. "  The  ambulance  is  to  come  for  her 


206  THEODORE  BRYAN 

soon,"  and  in  fact,  almost  as  she  spoke  the  sharp 
clang  of  its  gong  sounded  from  the  street  below, 
and  a  few  moments  later  the  men  came  with"  a 
stretcher  and  carried  the  unconscious  woman 
away. 

The  oldest  girl,  her  face  swollen  and  discol- 
oured with  weeping,  silently  followed  the 
stretcher  down  to  the  street.  There  she  found 
the  other  three  children  among  a  throng  that  had 
quickly  gathered  about  the  ambulance.  There 
had  been  little  to  nourish  the  growth  of  family 
love  in  the  starved  lives  of  the  little  Shanleys. 
The  mother  now  being  carried  out  of  their  sight 
had  given  them  iffs  and  harsh  words  far  more 
frequently  than  kind  ones,  but  after  all,  she  was 
"  mother,"  and  to  her  children  the  world  seemed 
dark  and  desolate  in  this  hour.  So  the  common 
loss  and  the  common  fear  drew  the  children  to- 
gether, and  the  younger  ones  crowded  close  about 
their  sister,  who  put  her  arms  around  them  as 
they  stood,  a  pitiful  little  group,  gazing  after  the 
ambulance  as  it  drove  off,  its  gong  sounding  a 
warning  through  the  narrow,  dirty,  swarming 
streets. 

"  Kin  we  go  up-stairs  now,  Jinny  ?  "  one  of  the 
little  boys  whispered,  as  the  crowd  rapidly  dis- 
solved, the  children  straggling  off  in  search  of 
fresh  excitement. 

"  Ye — es,  I  guess  so,"  Janie  said,  turning  back 
into  the  house,  and  presently  the  three  sidled 
doubtfully  into  what  they  called  home.  The 
younger  ones  cast  curious,  frightened  glances 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   207 

about  the  place  of  dreadful  memories.  Father  in 
prison,  mother  dead  (they  already  so  regarded 
her),  these  strangers  in  authority  here — their 
childish  hearts  were  heavy  with  fear  and  dread. 
But  the  big  mother  heart  of  Mrs.  Knowles  under- 
stood, and  she  was  quick  to  help. 

"  Have  they  had  any  breakfast — the  chil- 
dren ? "  she  enquired,  and  one  of  the  nurses  re- 
plied : 

"  Not  here.  We've  had  no  chance  to  do  any- 
thing for  them." 

Janie  volunteered  the  information  that  "  Mis' 
Fagan  an'  Mis'  Nolan  gave  them  something — the 
others — I  wasn't  hungry,"  she;-,dded,  and  turned 
her  face  aside,  wiping  her  sleeve  across  her  swol- 
len eyes. 

In  an  instant  Mrs.  Knowles'  arms  were  around 
the  girl,  as  she  whispered  softly,  "  Poor  child, 
cry  all  you  want  to.  I  know  how  hard  it  has 
been  for  you." 

But  the  sight  of  Janie's  tears  had  opened  other 
fountains,  and  as  the  younger  children  began  to 
whimper,  she  hastily  drew  away  from  the  kind 
arms  that  held  her.  "  I — I  mustn't  cry,  you 
know,  'cause  if  I  do,  they  all  will,  and  that'll  dis- 
turb m — the  baby,"  Janie  said.  She  glanced 
hastily  at  the  little  one  lying  still  on  Delia  Pru- 
den's  bosom.  "  Is  she  goin'  to  die  too — the 
baby?"  she  questioned  fearfully.  "  Some  of  the 
women  down-stairs  said  she  was — I  heard  'em 
whisperin'  about  it.  She's  my  baby — I  want  to 
hold  her  myself,"  she  pleaded. 


208  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  We  can't  tell  yet,  dear,"  Mrs.  Knowles  an- 
swered gently,  "  but  Delia  and  the  nurse  will  take 
care  of  the  baby — better  care  than  you  could, 
even  though  you  love  her,  and  you  can  hold  her 
by-and-by.  Now  I  want  you  and  the  children  all 
to  go  home  with  me.  Your  little  brothers  and 
sister  ought  to  have  a  good  breakfast,  you 
know." 

"  They  c'n  go.  I'm  goin'  to  stay  here,"  Janie 
declared  with  decision.  Deep  in  her  heart  she 
was  afraid  to  go — afraid  that  if  she  should  go 
away,  even  this  poor  semblance  of  a  home  would 
vanish,  and  the  baby  that  she  loved  follow  its 
mother  out  into  the  unknown. 

Mrs.  Knowles,  with  her  quick  sympathy, 
guessed  something  of  what  was  in  the  child's 
mind.  "  You  must  come  or  the  little  ones 
won't,"  she  urged,  "but  I  promise  you  Janie, 
that  in  a  little  while  you  shall  come  back  here; 
and  no  one  is  going  to  take  the  baby  away  before 
we  come  back — not  at  all,  if  she  gets  better." 

"If  she  don't,  I  hope  they'll  hang  father 
dead!"  Janie  broke  out  in  a  sudden  fierce  pas- 
sion of  rage  and  despair. 

Mrs.  Knowles  drew  the  hot,  tear-stained  little 
face  against  her  shoulder  again,  but  she  said 
no  word.  Perhaps  the  yearning  tenderness  in 
her  eyes  and  her  touch  made  stronger  ap- 
peal to  the  child  than  any  spoken  word  could 
have  done,  for  after  a  moment  Janie  lifted  her 
flushed  face  and  said,  "If  you  promise  that 
they  " — she  nodded  towards  Delia  and  the  nurses 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE  209 

— "  won't  let  the  baby  be  took  away  while  I'm 
gone,  I'll  go  with  you,  'cause  I  know  Susie  an' 
the  boys  are  hungry.  We  didn't  any  of  us  have 

much  supper  last  night.  Mother "  she  choked 

suddenly  on  that  word  and  could  add  no 
other. 

"  I  promise  you,  dear,"  Mrs.  Knowles  said, 
and  went  across  and  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to 
Delia  and  the  nurses.  Then  she  returned  to 
the  forlorn  little  group  huddled  about  Janie. 
"  Come,"  she  said,  and  catching  up  an  old  cape, 
Janie  led  the  way,  and  the  others  clattered  after 
her. 

At  the  next  landing,  Mrs.  Neal  stopped  Mrs. 
Knowles  to  enquire  where  her  Annie  was.  She 
looked  well  content  with  the  reply. 

"  I  didn't  worry  'cause  I  made  sure  you'd 
keep  her,"  she  said.  "  The  poor  little  thing  was 
scared  'most  out  of  her  senses  over  the  awful 
row  up  there  this  morning."  She  turned  and 
patted  Janie's  sharp  shoulder  kindly.  "  She's  a 
good  girl — is  Janie,"  she  added  to  Mrs.  Knowles. 
"  Many's  the  time  I've  seen  her  roundin'  up 
these  young  ones  out  of  the  streets  an'  runnin' 
errands  for  her  mammy.  The  good  Lord  help 
ye,  child,"  she  ended ;  then  as  she  turned  back  to 
her  own  door,  added,  "  Let  Annie  come  home 
with  Janie,  will  ye,  ma'am  ?  " 

Mrs.  Knowles  nodded  assent,  as  she  went  on 
with  the  children. 

Marjorie,  reading  by  the  fire,  while  Annie  and 
Elizabeth  played  by  the  window,  looked  up  in 


210  THEODORE  BRYAN 

quick  dismay  as  Mrs.  Knowles  came  in  with  the 
four  dirty,  draggled,  forlorn-looking  children. 
A  whispered  word  from  Mrs.  Knowles  made 
her  understand,  but  her  sympathy  for  the 
wretched  little  brood  was  marred  by  her  dis- 
gust at  the  idea  of  being  near  them  or  touching 
them. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  want  cooked  and  I'll  do 
that,"  she  said,  "  while  you — get  them  ready." 

And  indeed  they  were  sorely  in  need  of  "  get- 
ting ready "  before  they  would  be  fit  to  sit 
down  at  Mrs.  Knowles'  table.  But,  watching 
Marjorie's  face,  Janie's  own  flushed  hotly.  She 
had  heard  and  understood,  and  clutching  Susie's 
hand,  she  turned  and  started  swiftly  towards 
the  door.  Mrs.  Knowles,  however,  was  before 
her. 

"Dear,"  she  whispered,  "they'll  relish  their 
breakfast  better — Susie  and  the  boys — after 
they're  brushed  up  a  bit.  Of  course  you've  had 
no  chance  to  do  anything  for  them  this  morn- 
ing. You  take  Susie  into  this  bathroom,  and 
I'll  take  the  boys  to  the  other.  It  won't  take 
long  to  wash  their  hands  and  faces  and  brush 
their  hair."  She  turned  and  added,  "  And, 
Marjorie,  if  you'll  set  the  table  and  scramble 
some  eggs,  I  guess  you  needn't  cook  anything 
else.  There's  plenty  of  fresh  bread  and  butter 
and  milk,  and  I  filled  the  cooky  jar  yesterday." 

Janie  flung  a  defiant  glance  at  the  young  lady 
when  the  children  were  ready  for  their  meal. 
To  her  partial  eyes,  the  clean  faces  and  smooth 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   211 

heads  left  nothing  to  be  desired,  even  if  the 
garments  were  in  sore  need  of  washing  and 
mending.  Pug  noses  and  freckles,  and  strag- 
gling, tow-coloured  hair,  may  not  be  prepossess- 
ing on  other  people's  children,  but  on  your  own, 
if  you  are  a  "  little  mother  "  of  three  or  four,  it 
is  very  different. 

"  And  anyhow,"  said  Janie  defiantly,  down  in 
the  depths  of  her  loyal  little  heart,  "  our  baby's 
real  pretty — so  there !  " 

She  had  it  in  her  heart,  had  Janie,  to  eat  no 
mouthful,  herself,  of  the  food  that  the  "  proud  " 
young  lady  had  made  ready;  but,  poor  child, 
she  was  so  hungry  that  she  could  not  resist 
when  Mrs.  Knowles  heaped  her  plate  so  liber- 
ally. And  the  world  did  not  seem  quite  such 
a  dreary,  hopeless  place  to  her,  when  at  last 
the  four  left  that  bountiful  table. 

But  now  Janie  was  eager  to  be  gone — eager 
to  make  sure  that  the  baby  had  not  been  spirited 
away  in  her  absence;  and  she  waited  with  scant 
patience  even  while  a  basket  was  packed  with 
food  for  her  to  carry  home. 

"Tell  Delia  that  I'll  be  over  again  before 
bed-time,"  Mrs.  Knowles  said,  "  to  see  how  the 
baby  is." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Janie  hastily.  "  Come,  Susie 
— come,  boys,"  and  the  four  clumped  noisily 
across  the  hall  to  the  door,  but  there  Janie,  re- 
membering her  "  manners,"  looked  back  to  call 
"  an'  thank  you,  ma'am,  for  the  breakfast  'n' 
this,"  holding  up  the  basket. 


212  THEODORE  BRYAN 

From  the  window,  Mrs.  Knowles  watched, 
with  pitying  eyes,  the  four  children  hurrying 
down  the  street,  Janie  urging  on  little  Susie's 
stumbling  feet,  and  the  two  boys  tagging  at  her 
heels. 

"What  will  become  of  them?"  the  good 
woman  sighed.  "  I  suppose  they'll  have  to  be 
put  in  some  institution." 

"  Wouldn't  they  be  just  as  well  off  as  in  such 
a  home  as  they  have  had?  "  Marjorie  questioned. 

Mrs.  Knowles  shook  her  head.  "  No,  I  think 
even  a  poor  mother  is  better  than  none.  I  don't 
believe  in  institutions  for  children;  they  need 
homes  and  mothering." 

But  she  came  back  from  the  Shanleys'  that 
night  with  her  face  radiant. 

"Marjorie,  what  do  you  think?"  she  cried 
out.  "  Delia  Pruden  is  going  to  stay  with  those 
poor  Shanley  children  and  keep  the  home  for 
them.  Isn't  that  splendid?" 

"  Do  you  mean  support  them  ?  But  of  course, 
she  couldn't  do  that — five  of  them — and  one  a 
sick  baby,"  Marjorie  returned. 

"  But  that  is  just  what  she  has  undertaken," 
Mrs.  Knowles  declared,  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Oh,  but  how  can  she  ?  "  the  girl  said.  "  Just 
to  keep  the  house — the  rooms — and  get  the  meals 
and  look  after  them  all,  would  be  as  much  as 
any  girl  could  do.  When  would  she  have  any 
time  to  earn  their  living  ?  " 

"  Heaven  knows.  The  poor  do  what  they 
have  to  do.  But  what  a  splendid  thing  the 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   213 

kindness  of  the  poor  to  each  other  is,  Marjorie! 
Our  giving  of  our  surplus  money  and  our  spare 
time  looks  small  enough  by  contrast,  does  it 
not?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  girl,  in  a  low  tone,  "  yes, 
it  does,  indeed.  But  at  least  " — there  was  a  new 
note  of  humility  in  her  voice — "  at  least  we — I 
can  help.  I  must  help.  That  girl  shall  not 
be  left  to  carry  such  a  load  alone." 

"  Most  surely  not — we'll  help  her,  of  course," 
Mrs.  Knowles  answered  heartily,  "  but  I'm  so 
glad  that  she  is  willing  to  try  to  do  it  all  her- 
self. She  can  do  fine  laundry  work,  she  says, 
and  sew  between  whiles.  She  has  a  machine 
of  her  own,  and  has  had  work  from  one  of  the 
stores,  but  it  is  very  poorly  paid.  We  must  find 
something  better  for  her." 

"  She  doesn't  like  me,"  Marjorie  declared  sud- 
denly. "  Do  you  know  why  ?  " 

Mrs.  Knowles  hesitated,  before  she  answered, 
"  I  can  guess." 

"  Then  tell  me,  please." 

"  You — it  won't  please  you  to  know  the  reason, 
dear." 

"That  doesn't  matter.  I  don't  know  that  it 
is  necessary  for  me  to  be  pleased,  always.  Tell 
me,"  she  repeated. 

"  I  think  it  is  because  she  feels  that  you  hold 
yourself  aloof  from  her — look  down  on  her. 
The  poor  are  often  quick  to  feel,  and  resent,  that 
attitude." 

"  But — but  how   can   I   help  it  ?     Such   peo- 


214  THEODORE  BRYAN 

pie  are  on  a  lower  plane — you  know  they  are, 
Mother  Knowles." 

"  Do  you  consider  Theodore  on  a  lower  plane 
than — say,  than  your  cousin  Teddy  ?  " 

"  Why,  of "  So  far  the  girl  had  spoken, 

when  she  stopped  abruptly,  a  look  of  wonder 
growing  in  her  eyes,  as  the  colour  slowly  deep- 
ened in  her  cheeks.  After  a  moment's  silence 
she  looked  up  frankly.  "  A  month  ago  I  should 
have  said  '  of  course '  to  that  question,  without  a 
moment's  hesitation,"  she  said  slowly,  "  but — 
somehow  my  point  of  view  seems  to  be  chang- 
ing. I  believe  I  want  to  think  of  Theodore 
Bryan  as  on  a  lower  level  than  Teddy,  or — or  I, 
but  I  can't.  Things  look  different  to  me  lately. 
I  wonder  if  it  is  just  the  Green  Tree  House  at- 
mosphere. And  I  wonder  how  it  will  be  when 
I  go  home  again,"  she  added,  half  to  herself. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  partly  the  atmosphere  of  this 
house.  I  don't  see  how  any  one  can  live  in  the 
house  with  Theodore  Bryan  and  fail  to  catch 
something  of  the  spirit  that  fills  him.  But  I 
think,  as  I  told  you  before,  dear  child,  that  you 
are  being  led.  Are  you  willing  to  be  led  ?  " 

A  rebellious  flash  leaped  into  the  girl's  eyes 
as  she  flung  back  her  head  with  a  swift,  impa- 
tient motion.  "  I  don't  know — I  don't  know! " 
she  cried.  Then,  "  No,  Mother  Knowles,  I  don't 
believe  I  am  willing  to  be  led  in  your  way  and 
Theodore  Bryan's — not  yet." 

"Ah  well,  dear,  there  is  no  hurry.  The 
Father  is  very  patient  with  us  all,"  Mrs.  Knowles 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   215 

returned,  in  her  serene  fashion.  "  And  as  to 
Delia  Pruden — I  think  she  is  being  led  without 
ever  suspecting  it.  Here  comes  Theodore  now." 

She  smiled  a  welcome  as  he  entered,  arid 
Marjorie  silently  slipped  back  into  a  shadowy 
corner.  Mrs.  Knowles  began  at  once  to  speak 
of  Delia  and  the  Shanley  children.  Bryan's  face 
lighted  up  in  quick  response. 

"  It  will  be  a  splendid  thing  for  them  all,"  he 
said.  "  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  little  Janie 
developed  into  something  worth  while  now. 
She's  never  had  the  ghost  of  a  chance  before. 
We  shall  have  to  help  them  out,  of  course ;  Delia 
must  not  be  left  to  carry  the  whole  load.  I 
have  just  come  from  the  hospital.  Mrs.  Shan- 
ley  is  dead." 

"  And  that  will  mean,  for  the  man ?  "  Mrs. 

Knowles  questioned. 

"  That  depends.  Boss  Brady  will  doubtless 
try  to  get  him  off  with  a  light  sentence,  or  none 
at  all."  Bryan's  eyes  darkened.  "  Politics  has 
much  to  do  with  justice — or  injustice — in  these 
days.  But  there  is  one  sure  thing,  Mr.  Henry 
will  have  some  plain  truths  to  say  at  Mrs.  Shan- 
ley's  funeral.  It  is  to  be  on  Sunday  afternoon, 
in  the  Mission  Chapel,  and  Mother  Knowles  " — 
he  leaned  forward,  his  face  eager  and  earnest — 
"I'm  going  to  have  my  boys  there — the  club 
boys,  and  as  many  from  Sabin  Street  as  I  can 
get  together.  This  woman's  death  was  due 
simply  and  solely  to  liquor;  and  Henry  is  going 
to  state  that  fact  so  plainly  and  impressively, 


216  THEODORE  BRYAN 

that  the  boys  cannot  well  miss  the  full  force 
of  it.  Then  next  week  I  mean  to  take 
some  of  the  older  boys,  the  leaders,  through 
the  Home  for  Inebriates.  I've  been  there, 
and  the  sights  I  saw — the  pitiful,  shame- 
ful wrecks  of  humanity — haunted  my  memory 
for  months.  I  want  them  to  haunt  my  boys  the 
same  way.  I  want  to  burn  into  their  very  souls 
what  drink  does  to  men,  and  to  their  wives  and 
children.  Then,  Mother  Knowles,  I  mean  to 
start  those  boys  on  a  '  No  Liquor '  crusade. 
This  neighbourhood  has  got  to  be  cleaned  up. 
The  saloons  must  be  wiped  out.  Then  our  boys 
— and  girls— will  have  a  chance,  the  chance  that 
God  meant  them  to  have.  They  don't  have  it 
now." 

Mrs.  Knowles  had  listened  with  the  deepest 
interest. 

"  What  a  wonderful  difference  it  would  make 
if  we  could  get  rid  of  all  the  saloons,  even  on 
this  street;  but  I  suppose  then  the  men  would 
just  go  a  little  further  for  their  drink,"  she  added 
sorrowfully. 

"  Many  of  them  would,  of  course,"  Bryan 
assented,  "  but  some  would  drink  much  less  and 
some  would  leave  it  alone  altogether,  if  they 
were  not  tempted  at  every  corner.  And  the 
boys — if  we  could  only  train  up  this  one  gen- 
eration of  boys  without  this  curse  to  steal  away 
their  senses  and  brutalise  their  very  souls,  just 
think  what  it  would  mean!  What  it  would 
mean  in  their  poor  homes — they  wouldn't  be  so 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE  217 

poor  then — and  in  civic  matters  and  politics. 
Why  " — his  plain  face  flushed  with  earnestness 
— "  why,  Mother  Knowles,  if  we  could  only 
keep  our  club  boys  and  those  that  we  are  now 
reaching,  here  in  this  house — keep  them  from 
liquor  and  the  vices  that  follow  in  its  train — 
we  could  revolutionise  this  quarter  of  the  town 
at  least.  If  they  could  only  realise  their  power 
for  good !  " 

"  Well  " — Mrs.  Knowles  drew  a  long  breath — 
"you  are  sowing  the  good  seed  steadily,  Theo- 
dore. Some  of  it  surely  must  spring  up  and 
bear  fruit." 

"  Yes,  some,  I  hope,"  he  answered,  a  little 
shadow  of  discouragement  in  his  eyes  now, 
"  but  oh,  so  much  of  it  seems  to  be  lost  on  the 
stony  ground." 

Two  days  after  Mrs.  Shanley's  funeral,  Bryan 
took  ten  of  the  boys  to  the  Home  for  Inebriates. 
"  I  want  to  show  you,  boys,  just  what  liquor 
does  to  men  in  the  end,"  he  said  as  they  drew 
near  the  place,  and  the  vague  curiosity  in  the 
young  faces  changed  to  gravity  and  horror  as 
the  lads  followed  him  from  room  to  room.  They 
were  yet  more  grave  when  they  came  out,  and 
very  silent.  Two  of  them  were  white  and  shak- 
ing, and  the  youngest  of  the  ten,  a  boy  whose 
father  was  seldom  sober — suddenly  flung  his  arm 
over  his  eyes  and  broke  into  convulsive  sobs. 
Usually  that  would  have  been  the  signal  for  a 
storm  of  jeers  and  taunts  from  the  others,  but 
no  one  ventured  anything  of  the  sort  now.,  and 


218  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Bryan  put  his  arm  kindly  over  the  boy's  shoul- 
ders as  they  went  on. 

"  I  know  how  you  feel,  Billy,"  he  said  quietly. 
"  When  I  came  to  this  place  once  before,  I  went 
home  and  cried  like  a  baby,  and  it  was  weeks 
before  I  could  get  over  what  I  had  seen.  I 
hated  to  bring  you  boys  here  to-day,  but  I  felt 
that  you  must  see  for  yourselves  what  liquor 
does.  We  won't  talk  about  it  now,  but  this 
evening  I  want  you  all  to  come  to  the  fire  room, 
and  we'll  see  what  we  can  do  to  keep  ourselves 
and  others  from  ever  going  to  a  place  like  that 
we've  just  left." 

The  ten  were  all  gathered  about  the  glow- 
ing logs  that  evening,  with  a  dozen  or  more  other 
boys,  mostly  from  Sabin  Street.  Bryan  had  se- 
lected his  guests  very  carefully  for  this  oc- 
casion, inviting  only  those  who  in  one  way  or 
another  had  influence  among  their  companions. 
Mack  was  there,  his  blue  eyes  not  twinkling 
with  mischief  as  usual,  and  Tom  Brown  and 
Tony  Trudo.  Jim,  Bryan  had  not  asked,  al- 
though he  wanted  him,  but  he  was  afraid  of  get- 
ting the  boy  into  trouble,  since  Jim's  father  had 
forbidden  him  to  go  to  Green  Tree  House  for 
any  purpose. 

"  Boys,"  Bryan  began,  when  they  were  all 
seated  before  the  crackling  logs,  "  you've  seen 
this  week  what  drink  does.  You've  seen  a 
woman  killed  by  it,  a  man  in  prison,  and  five 
little  children  left  alone  in  the  world.  Young 
as  you  are,  you've  all  known  many  things  of 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   219 

this  sort  before.  And  to-day,  some  of  you  have 
seen  men  who  are  loathsome  wrecks  of  man- 
hood— all  because  of  liquor. 

"  You  know  how  hard  it  is  in  these  days  for 
men  who  drink  to  get  good  jobs — or  keep  them. 
Such  men  are  no  longer  wanted  in  mills,  or 
factories,  or  railroad  work.  Even  those  who 
drink  but  little,  are  the  first  to  be  turned  off  in 
slack  times — I  don't  need  to  tell  you  that.  You 
know,  too,  that  the  saloons  are  all  the  time  reach- 
ing out  after  boys — like  you — because  the  men 
who  drink  will  soon  be  in  their  graves,  or  in 
prison,  or  in  the  poorhouse,  or — where  we  went 
to-day.  Within  two  squares  of  this  house  there 
are  nine  saloons  open  to-night."  He  paused — 
the  boys  were  listening  with  earnest  eyes,  and 
only  the  crackling  of  the  fire  broke  the  silence, 
till  Bryan  added  slowly,  "  What  are  we  going 
to  do  about  all  this — you  and  If" 

"  What  can  we  do,  brother  ?  "  It  was  Tom 
Brown  who  spoke. 

Bryan  flashed  a  smile  at  him.  "  That's  good. 
I  like  you  to  call  me  that.  I  am  just  that — 
your  big  brother,  and  I'm  here  among  you  to 
lend  a  hand  whenever  and  wherever  I  can. 
What  can  we  do  about  it  ?  "  His  eyes  flashed 
and  his  voice  rang  out,  "  We  can  clear  out  the 
saloons.  We  can  clean  up  this  whole  neigh- 
bourhood and  make  Sabin  Street  a  decent 
place  for  the  men,  women,  and  children  who 
live  on  it — that's  what  we  can  do — you  and  I, 
boys!" 


220  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  How  ?  Tell  us  how,"  Tom  and  another 
boy  cried  out  in  one  breath ;  and  the  second  boy 
was  Black  Jim,  who  had  slipped  quietly  into  the 
room  while  Bryan  was  speaking. 

"  We  can  do  it,"  Bryan  told  them,  speaking 
slowly  now,  but  with  a  note  in  his  voice  that 
thrilled  their  hearts,  "  we  can  do  it  if  we  are, 
every  one  of  us,  in  dead  earnest;  if  we  are 
determined  that  we  will  do  it,  no  matter  how 
long  it  takes  or  how  hard  the  fight  —  we 
can  do  it  if  we  join  hands  and  pull  all  to- 
gether. It  won't  be  play,  boys.  There  will  be 
those  in  your  own  homes  that  will  oppose  you 
bitterly,  some  of  you — you  know  that  " — Jim's 
lips  set  in  hard  lines  and  he  clenched  his  right 
hand  on  his  knee — "  The  saloon-keepers  will 
fight  you,  with  plenty  of  money  behind  them,  and 
— Boss  Brady  will  fight  you.  It  will  be  a  hard 
tussle,  I  warn  you,  but " — he  leaned  forward, 
his  eyes  glowing — "  but,  boys,  we  shall  have 
God  and  the  right  on  our  side  and  we  can't  be 
beaten,  if  only  you  stand  fast." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  as  Bryan 
ceased ;  then  Black  Jim  arose  and,  crossing  over, 
stood  beside  him,  facing  the  boys.  In  his  dark 
countenance  they  saw  something  they  had  never 
seen  there  before,  something  that  filled  them  with 
wonder,  as  he  said,  speaking  clearly  and  dis- 
tinctly, "  I'm  with  you  to  the  end,  brother." 

Instantly  Bryan  grasped  the  boy's  hand  and 
wrung  it  hard,  while  over  Jim's  face  a  slow 
flush  swept.  And  then  a  big  freckled  paw  was 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   221 

pushed  roughly  forward,  and  Mack  was  crying 
out: 

"Me  too,  brother — I'm  wid  ye  till  the  last 
bottle's  broke." 

They  all  crowded  forward  after  that — not  one 
was  willing  to  be  left  out;  though,  before  he 
would  let  them  pledge  themselves,  Bryan  made 
very  clear  and  plain  to  them  the  kind  of  op- 
position they  would  surely  have  to  face.  One 
or  two  drew  back  and  hesitated  a  little,  think- 
ing it  all  over,  but  in  the  end  every  boy  was 
pledged. 

As  Bryan  stood  there  in  the  glow  of  the  fire- 
light, his  eyes  shining,  his  face  showing  how 
deeply  he  was  stirred  by  his  joy  and  pride  in 
these  "little  brothers"  of  his,  Teddy  Marston 
and  Bennie  Hoyt  came  quietly  in  from  the 
other  room  and  joined  the  group. 

"  I  think  you'll  have  to  count  me  into  this  too, 
Bryan,"  the  former  said.  "If  there's  any  fight- 
ing to  be  done,  I  want  a  share." 

"  And  I,"  added  Bennie  quietly,  his  hand  rest- 
ing for  a  moment  on  Bryan's  shoulder. 

Bryan  looked  at  them,  and  from  them  to  the 
boys,  and  for  a  moment  he  could  not  speak; 
then  he  said — and  his  voice  was  not  quite 
steady  —  "Boys,  if  you  all  stand  fast,  we 
will  make  old  Boston  proud  of  Sabin  Street 
yet." 

Then  they  sat  down  and  planned  the  campaign. 
Each  of  the  boys  was  to  try  to  secure  one  other, 
and  he  to  bring  in  yet  another,  until  every  boy  in 


222  THEODORE  BRYAN 

the  neighbourhood  who  could  be  trusted  to  keep 
his  pledge  should  be  pledged  for  this  campaign. 
And  the  fathers  who  did  not  frequent  the  saloons 
— their  number,  alas,  was  small! — were  to  be 
induced,  if  possible,  to  help. 

"  Boys."  Marston  said,  an  hour  later,  as  Bryan 
was  handing  around  hot  coffee  and  sandwiches, 
"  what  would  you  say  to  a  recreation-place  here 
on  Sabin  Street,  with  gardens  and  benches,  where 
your  mothers  could  bring  the  babies,  a  big  sand- 
pile  and  swings  for  the  little  kids,  and  a  gym- 
nasium, and  swimming-pool,  and  ball-ground 
for  you  big  chaps?  How  would  you  like 
that?" 

But  this  was  too  much  for  Sabin  Street 
imaginations  to  grasp. 

"  Aw,  what  ye  givin'  us  ? "  one  cried  out  in 
a  tone  of  intense  disgust. 

"  Couldn't  ye  put  in  a  picture-gall'ry  an'  some 
marble  figgers,  while  ye're  about  it  ? "  was  the 
sarcastic  query  of  another. 

"  Maybe,  sometime — who  knows  ?  "  returned 
Marston  composedly.  "  But  the  recreation-place 
isn't  so  far  off.  Listen,  lads.  I  happen  to  know 
that  there's  a  plan  on  foot  to  establish  half  a 
dozen  such  places  in  the  poorer  parts  of  the 
city ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  Sabin  Street  would 
like  one  as  well  as  any  other  street,  eh  ?  " 

"  Likin'  ain't  gittin' !  "  declared  a  sober-faced 
boy,  with  quiet  emphasis. 

"  No,  but  I  believe — I'm  not  yet  quite  sure, 
but  I  think  that,  if  you  boys  stick  to  your  guns, 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE 

and  clean  up  this  neighbourhood  as  you  have 
been  planning  to  do — clear  out  the  saloons  and 
every  other  den  in  the  street — I  surely  think 
that  one  of  those  parks  will  come  this  way.  At 
least,  I  know  a  man  who  is  ready  to  give  ten 
thousand  dollars  towards  it." 

One  boy  gave  a  shrill  whistle.  Another  drew 
in  his  breath  with  a  gurgle  of  delight. 

"  A  gym.  'n'  a  swimmin'-pool,"  cried  another. 
"Oh,  gee  whiz!"  and  he  nudged  the  boy  next 
to  him  ecstatically. 

"  It's  for  you  to  say,  boys,  what  kind  of  a 
place  you  will  live  in,  you  see,"  Bryan  added. 
"  Think  a  minute  " — his  swift  glance  flashed 
from  face  to  face — "  Jack  Kelly,  you  are  the 
youngest  boy  here,  I  think.  How  old  are  you  ? T' 

"  Coin'  on  fourteen,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

Bryan  nodded.  "  And  some  of  you  are  two 
or  three  years  older  than  Jack.  Don't  you  see 
— in  from  four  to  seven  years,  every  one  of  you 
will  be  a  man — an  American  citizen,  with  the 
right  to  vote?  I  want  you  in  these  years  to 
learn  how  to  vote  right;  and  meantime,  I  mean 
that  you  shall  find  out — prove — that  American 
boys  do  not  have  to  wait  till  they  are  twenty-one 
to  have  a  hand  in  civic  matters — in  what  con- 
cerns the  public  good.  You  can  be  the  best 
kind  of  American  citizens  right  now.  You  can 
honour  that ! "  He  pointed  to  the  stars  and 
stripes  above  the  mantelpiece. 

"Hurrah  for  us!"  shouted  Jack  Kelly,  his 
excitable  spirit  stirred  to  the  point  where  a 


224  THEODORE  BRYAN 

yell  was  an  absolute  necessity  to  him,  and  a 
burst  of  laughter  relieved  the  strain. 

"  But  what'll  we  do  wid  the  rest  of  the  gang 
— the  bad  ones  ? "  another  boy  questioned 
anxiously,  when  they  were  quiet  again. 

"  There  aren't  any  bad  ones  " — Bryan's  answer 
was  quick. — "  The  bad  is  only  on  the  surface 
in  all  you  fellows — you're  sound  and  good  un- 
derneath. Look  here — you  all  know  how  easy 
it  is  for  one  boy  to  lead  others  into  mischief. 
Well,  it's  just  the  same  the  other  way  about. 
Goodness — manliness — clean  honest  manliness  is 
just  as  '  catching '  as  the  other  thing.  You  try 
it  and  see  if  that  isn't  true.  Every  boy  of  you 
that  lives  up  to  the  best  he  knows  is  helping 
other  fellows  up  instead  of  down — don't  you 
forget  that." 

But  his  quick  eyes  saw  that  the  boys  had  seen, 
and  heard,  and  felt  as  much  as  was  good  for  one 
day,  so  when  the  coffee  and  sandwiches  had 
disappeared,  he  sent  them  away,  and  they  went 
out  into  the  night,  heads  lifted  and  shoulders 
squared,  as  they  swung  along  through  the  dark 
street — conscious,  as  never  before,  of  the  power 
that  was  in  them.  Only  Jim  slipped  away  at  the 
first  corner  and  went  on  alone.  He  was  among 
the  oldest  of  the  boys,  and  realised,  as  perhaps 
none  of  the  others  did,  what  was  before  them — 
before  him  especially ;  for  well  he  knew  that  his 
father  was  one  of  those  who  would  fight  to  the 
bitter  end  for  the  saloons  and  all  that  the  saloons 
stood  for — and  Jim  knew  his  father.  Yet  not 


THE  SEED  OF  THE  CRUSADE   225 

for  a  moment  did  his  resolution  waver.  Some- 
thing in  the  boy  had  flamed  in  quick  response 
to  Bryan's  words  that  night;  henceforth,  where 
Bryan  led,  Jim  would  follow  without  question, 
for  he  believed  in  his  leader — believed  in  him 
with  a  blind,  silent  devotion  that  nothing  could 
shake. 


XIII 
MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE 

"  •  "VEAR,  dear,"  sighed  Mrs.  Knowles,  com- 
M  ing  into  the  kitchen  where  Marjorie, 

-"— ^  looking  bewitchingly  pretty  in  a  ruf- 
fled apron  of  pink  and  white  gingham,  was 
making  a  fresh  supply  of  seed-cakes  for  the 
"  cooky-jar,"  "  what  will  Delia  Pruden  do  now  ? 
The  two  little  Shanley  boys  are  down  with  scar- 
let fever.  If  I  could  get  anybody  to  stay  here 
with  you,  I'd  go  right  over  there  and  help  her 
nurse  them." 

Marjorie  stood  with  egg-beater  in  her  hand, 
considering. 

"You  needn't  bother  about  me,"  she  said 
slowly.  "  I  could  go  home,  you  know,  but  what 
would  you  do  with  Elizabeth — and  Duffer?" 

"  Theo  would  take  care  of  Duffer — or  the 
Crums  would — though  it  would  be  a  trial  to 
him  to  stay  with  them,  for  he  doesn't  seem  to 
like  the  old  lady " 

"  Or  her  pink  slumber  slippers,"  laughed 
Marjorie. 

Mrs.    Knowles   smiled   in   an   absent-minded 
fashion,  and  went  on,  "  But  I  shouldn't  like  to 
leave  Elizabeth  with  them." 
226 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    227 

"  Leave  her  here  then,  and  I'll  stay  and  take 
care  of  her  and  Duffer  both,"  said  the  girl. 

Mrs.  Knowles  considered  that  with  manifest 
doubt.  "  I'm  afraid  you'd  find  it  too  lonely, 
child,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head,  "  and  too  hard. 
Elizabeth  would  be  sure  to  have  one  of  her 
tantrums  every  other  thing,  and  I  must  admit 
that  she  is  a  trial  when  she  has  them.  Besides, 
if  you  were  here,  the  girls  and  their  mothers 
would  keep  running  in.  They're  so  used  to  it 
now  that  they  can't  seem  to  keep  away." 

"  We-ell — maybe  I  could  stand  it.  Anyhow 
I  can  try  it  for  a  while,  and  see.  If  I  find  the 
strain  too  great,  I  can  always  run  away  from  it 
all  and  go  home.  If  I  should  turn  coward  and 
do  that,  Mother  Knowles — and  I'm  awfully 
afraid  I  shall,  you  know — I'd  take  Elizabeth  with 
me.  I  guess  I  could  stand  her  '  tantrums  ' ;  and 
maybe  she  wouldn't  have  them,  or  at  any  rate, 
not  so  many  of  them — at  home  with  me." 

"  Maybe  not,  poor  little  thing !  Well,  then " 

As  Mrs.  Knowles  talked  she  was  gathering  into 
a  suitcase  the  things  she  wanted  to  take  with 
her.  Mar j one  had  followed  her  into  the  bed- 
room, the  egg-beater  still  in  her  hand.  Mrs. 
Knowles  went  on:  "When  she's  so  trying" — 
meaning  Elizabeth — "  I  try  to  remember  what 
a  poor  chance  she's  had.  I  guess,  from  what 
her  grandmother  let  drop,  that  the  father 
and  mother  were  both  pretty  poor  speci- 
mens of  humanity,  so  how  could  Elizabeth  be 
any  better  than  she  is?  But  there's  a  warm 


228  THEODORE  BRYAN 

heart  under  all  her  hot  temper  and  contrari- 
ness, and — as  Theo  would  say  " — the  kind  voice 
melted  into  tender  reverence — "  the  Image  is 
there,  and  it  will  shine  out  after  a  while." 

"  Mother  Knowles  " — Marjorie  started  for- 
ward impulsively  and  laid  her  hands  lightly  on  the 
broad  shoulders  of  the  older  woman,  her  voice 
sinking  to  a  wistful  whisper — "how  about  me? 
I  have  had  '  chances,'  but  I'm  not  good.  I  have 
worse  tantrums  than  any  poor  little  Elizabeth 
has,  though  maybe  I  manage  to  keep  them  in- 
side most  times.  Do  you  think — tell  me  truly, 
Mother  Knowles,  do  you  think  that — anybody — 
can  ever  get  down  under  all  the  rubbish,  and 
find  that  Image — in  me?" 

The  strong  motherly  arms  held  the  girl  close, 
as  Mrs.  Knowles  answered,  "  Never  doubt  it, 
dear  child,  never  doubt  it  for  a  moment.  I've 
seen  it  shining  out  in  you  many  a  time  already. 
I  guess  there  isn't  so  very  much  rubbish  to 
clear  away,  dear! "  She  kissed  one  flushed 
cheek,  then  let  the  girl  go.  "  There,  I  believe  I 
have  everything.  Poor  Delia,  I  couldn't  leave 
her  there  with  three  sick  children — the  baby 
alone  is  care  enough.  Now,  if  you  really  think 
you  can  get  along  here,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have 
you,  but  mind,  if  you  find  it  too  hard  or  too 
lonely,  you  are  to  take  Elizabeth  and  go  home. 
You  promise  that  you  will  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  I  find  it  too  hard,  I  will— and  I 
really  expect  I  shall.  It  would  be  just  like 
me."  Then  Marjorie  laid  her  fair  cheek  gently 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    229 

against  the  soft  wrinkled  face  of  the  other. 
"  Do  take  good  care  of  yourself,  and  don't 
get  too  tired,"  she  urged.  "You  know  I'll 
be  glad  to  send  a  nurse  there,  if  you'll 
let  me." 

"  I  will,  if  I  find  that  I'm  getting  worn  out,  I 
promise  you  that,  child,"  Mrs.  Knowles  re- 
plied. "  I  know  Theo  will  be  over  there  every 
day  or  two,  and  I  can  send  you  word  through 
him." 

"The— Mr.  Bryan?"  the  girl  cried  quickly. 
"Why  should  he  go  there?" 

"  Why  should  he  go  anywhere  and  every- 
where where  there  is  sickness  and  trouble  ? " 
Mrs.  Knowles  returned.  "  He  gives  a  thousand 
times  more  than  money — love,  and  sympathy,  and 
hope,  and  courage,  and  little  thoughtful  kind- 
nesses. He  heartens  up  the  poor  souls  that  are 
ground  down  to  despair  by  years  of  poverty  and 
all  sorts  of  troubles — and  sin.  God  was  very 
good  to  Sabin  Street  when  he  sent  Theodore 
Bryan  here." 

"  But,"  Marjorie  protested,  "  how  can  he  go 
there  now,  when  there  is  scarlet  fever?  It  isn't 
safe,  is  it — for  him,  or  for  the  boys  that  come 
here?" 

">:Oh,  he'll  take  no  risks — he  won't  go  in 
where  the  fever  is.  He  wouldn't  be  afraid  for 
himself,  but  he  would  for  his  boys.  But  he'll 
manage  somehow  to  keep  in  touch  with  us,  you'll 
see.  Now  good-bye,  dear  child.  Tell  Elizabeth 
good-bye  for  me,  when  she  comes  home  from 


230  THEODORE  BRYAN 

school,  and  tell  her  I  know  she  is  going  to  be 
my  good  girl  till  I  get  back." 

"  I'll  tell  her.  Good-bye,"  Marjorie  answered, 
and  followed  to  the  door  to  call  good-bye  again ; 
and  then  went  back,  and  from  the  window 
watched  the  stout  figure  go  briskly  down  the 
street. 

A  long,  long  time  Marjorie  stood  there  think- 
ing— grave  and  troubled  thoughts  they  must 
have  been,  judging  from  the  shadowed  eyes  and 
serious  mouth.  The  clock  striking  twelve 
startled  her.  In  a  few  minutes  Elizabeth  would 
be  home,  clamouring  for  her  dinner. 

Elizabeth"  came  breezily  in,  crying  out, 
"  Where's  Mother  Knowles  ?  I  want  Mother 
Knowles." 

When  she  learned  where  Mother  Knowles 
was,  and  that  she  might  be  away  for  several 
weeks,  Elizabeth  manifested  strong  symptoms 
of  a  "  tantrum  " ;  the  symptoms  being  a  black 
scowl,  drooping  mouth-corners,  and  a  disposition 
to  sulk.  But  when  Marjorie  gave  her  Mother 
Knowles'  message,  the  scowl  began  slowly  to 
lighten,  and  a  little  later  the  drooping  mouth- 
corners  lifted  a  trifle.  Finally  Elizabeth  put  her 
hands  behind  her  and  faced  Marjorie,  her  hard 
black  eyes  never  wavering  as  she  declared: 

"  I  ain't  promisin'  that  I'll  keep  on  bein'  good 
if  she  stays  long  with  them  Shanleys,  but  mebbe 
I  will,  just  to-day.  Anyhow,"  she  added,  "  I'm 
glad  it's  the  Shanley  boys  that  have  got  the 
fever,  'stead  o'  Janie.  They're  no  good  anyhow 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    231 

— them  boys!  I  don't  like  'em,"  and  having 
thus  expressed  her  opinion,  she  condescended  to 
eat  her  dinner;  but  she  did  it  with  a  distinct 
air  of  doing  a  favour  to  Marjorie. 

"  You  and  I  are  to  keep  house  while  Mother 
Knowles  is  gone,  you  know,"  Marjorie  told  her, 
when  Elizabeth  came  back  from  school  at  four 
o'clock. 

Elizabeth  considered  in  silence  for  a  moment, 
then  she  enquired,  "  What'm  I  to  do  ? "  clip- 
ping her  words  with  the  air  of  a  snapping 
terrier. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  help  me  set  the  table,  and 
maybe  wipe  the  dishes?" 

"  I  dunno's  I  do."  Elizabeth's  tone  was 
defiant. 

"  Oh,  well,  just  as  you  please.  I  can  do  it  all, 
of  course,  but  sometimes  I  get  tired.  It  takes 
a  great  deal  of  time  to  do  the  cooking  and  all, 
and  keep  the  rooms  as  nice  as  Mrs.  Knowles 
keeps  them." 

"  Bet  you  won't !  "  taunted  the  child,  with  an 
irritating  little  laugh.  "  You  don't  know  how  as 
Mother  Knowles  does.  You  don't  cook  nice  as 
she  does  neither.  Your  biscuits  ain't  near  so 
good  as  hers."  This  with  an  air  of  triumph. 

Marjorie's  cheeks  flushed  and  she  was  vexed 
with  herself,  because  she  could  not  prevent  their 
doing  so.  Elizabeth,  keen-eyed  as  any  hawk, 
saw — and  her  triumph  increased.  When  Mar- 
jorie said  stiffly,  "  That  will  do,  Elizabeth,"  the 
child  fairly  glowed  with  impish  delight. 


232  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  That  fetched  her !  "  she  whispered  in  Duffer's 
ear,  flinging  herself  down  beside  him  on  the 
floor.  "  She  thinks  'cause  she's  rich  'n' — V 
awful  pretty  " — a  stubborn  honesty  forced  the 
child  to  make  this  admission,  though  she  did  it 
grudgingly  even  to  herself — "  that  I'm  goin'  to  let 
her  boss  me,  but  I  just  guess  she'll  find  out! 
Mother  Knowles  can  boss  me  'f  she  wants  to, 
'n'  big  brother  can,  an' — well,  mebbe  a  little 
sometimes,  Teddy  Marston,  but  nobody  else  ain't 
a-goin'  to  do  it — no,  sir-ee !  " 

But  rather  to  Elizabeth's  disappointment — for 
conflict  was  the  joy  of  her  soul — Marjorie  did 
not  try  to  "  boss  "  her.  She  only  said  quietly, 
"  Very  well,  Elizabeth,  do  just  as  you  please. 
I  shan't  tell  Mrs.  Knowles,  of  course,  but  you'll 
have  to  tell  her  yourself,  when  she  comes  back, 
whether  you've  been  good  or  not." 

After  supper  Elizabeth  remained  on  the  rug 
before  the  fire,  hugging  Duffer's  homely,  yellow- 
brown  head  under  her  arm,  while  Marjorie 
washed  the  dishes.  Elizabeth  was  having  a 
fierce  battle  with  her  conscience — for  she  had 
a  conscience,  and  it  gave  her  a  deal  of  trouble 
sometimes.  It  was  the  victor  on  this  occasion, 
and  forced  the  child  at  last  to  spring  up  and  go  to 
the  kitchen,  where  she  snatched  up  a  towel  and 
began  wiping  the  silver  with  a  vigour  out  of  all 
proportion  to  the  needs  of  the  case. 

"I  could  wash  'n'  wipe  'em  both,"  she  re- 
marked, with  a  toss  of  her  head,  as  she  dumped 
the  spoons  in  the  drawer. 


"  Thank  you,  Elizabeth,"  Marjorie  said  gently. 
To  tell  the  truth  she  was  actually  in  dread  of 
one  of  the  child's  tantrums — "  for  I  shouldn't 
know  what  in  the  world  to  do  with  her  if  she 
should  have  one,"  she  acknowledged  to  herself; 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that  Elizabeth  read  her 
thoughts  and  exulted  over  her  trepidation,  there 
was  such  an  uncanny  gleam  in  the  black  eyes — 
such  a  taunting  tilt  to  the  little  sharp  chin. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  her  this  evening?" 
Marjorie  was  asking  herself  later,  when,  to  her 
relief,  her  cousin  appeared. 

"Well,  Marjie,"  he  greeted  her,  "I've  just 
found  out  that  you  are  the  sole  survivor — al- 
ways excepting  Elizabeth  " — he  nodded  gaily  to 
the  child — "  and  Duffer.  How  does  it  go — kind 
of  lonesome  ?  " 

"  No-o,  not  yet,"  Marjorie  hesitated,  "  I've 
hardly  had  time  yet  to  be  lonesome." 

"  She's  goin'  to  be  though,"  Elizabeth  put  in, 
"  when  I'm  to  school."  She  flung  a  malicious 
grin  over  her  shoulder  at  the  girl. 

"  H-m,"  was  Teddy's  comment  to  Elizabeth ; 
then  to  his  cousin,  "  Why  don't  you  pack  up  and 
go  home,  Marjorie?" 

Elizabeth  craned  her  neck  and  pricked  up  her 
ears  to  catch  the  answer.  It  was  slow  in  coming. 

"  Maybe  I  shall,  Teddy — I  don't  know  yet. 
Maybe  I  may  feel  that  it's  my  chance." 

"Chance  for  what?" 

"  Oh — for  several  things.  I  can't  explain 
now." 


234  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  'Cause  she  don't  want  me  to  hear,"  Elizabeth 
whispered  in  Teddy's  ear,  having  edged  around 
behind  his  chair. 

"Well,  of  course,  you'll  suit  yourself;  but  I 
should  think  this  was  a  first-class  chance  for 
you  to  run  home  and  get  a  change  of  air  and 
surroundings,"  Teddy  said.  His  eyes,  study- 
ing Marjorie's  face  as  she  gazed  thoughtfully 
into  the  fire,  noted  a  new  expression  there.  It 
baffled  him,  and  aroused  his  curiosity.  Mar- 
jorie  did  not  reply,  and  after  a  little  silence,  he 
remarked : 

"  They  seem  t6  be  having  a  pretty  bad  time 
with  the  fever  down  there  where  the  Shanleys 
live." 

Marjorie  looked  up  quickly.  "  Are  there 
others  sick  with  it  besides  the  Shanley  boys  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  half  a  dozen  cases  in  the  same 
old  tenements.  The  whole  place  is  in  quaran- 
tine, and  several  other  tenement  houses  in  that 
neighbourhood.  The  district  nurses  will  have 
their  hands  full." 

"  Is  money  needed,  Teddy  ?  " 

"  Money  is  always  needed."  Marston  frowned 
and  shook  his  head  impatiently.  "  It's  like  pour- 
ing water  into  a  sieve,  though — you  may  keep 
on  giving  money,  or  giving  yourself — as  Bryan 
is  doing — and  though  you  help  a  little,  here  and 
there,  the  sum-total  of  misery  seems  never  to 
be  lessened  one  iota." 

The  girl  nodded.  "That's  the  way  it  seems 
to  me,  Teddy.  And  sometimes  " — she  searched 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    235 

his  face  with  earnest  eyes — "  sometimes  it  all 
seems  to  me  useless.  I  mean  for  people  like 
him — Bryan — to  give  their  lives  to  such  work. 
Does  it  pay,  Teddy — truly,  do  you  think  it 
does?" 

"  Bryan  would  tell  you  that  it  does,  without 
a  moment's  hesitation.  And,  Marjorie,  when  I 
think  of  individual  cases,  I  know  it  does,  myself. 
It  is  marvellous,  the  way  he  is  getting  hold  of 
these  boys — fairly  putting  a  new  spirit  into  them. 
I  tell  you " — Teddy  leaned  forward,  speaking 
eagerly — "  some  of  these  chaps  would  go  through 
fire  and  water  now  for  Theodore  Bryan. 
Pshaw!  Of  course  it  pays.  Who  can  doubt 
it?" 

"  And  do  you  believe,  Teddy,  that  they  will 
succeed  in  cleaning  up  this  dreadful  neighbour- 
hood and  driving  out  the  saloons?  Do  you 
really  believe  they  can  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  shouldn't  believe  it  if  anybody  but  Theo- 
dore Bryan  had  undertaken  the  job;  but,  Mar- 
jorie, there's  no  denying  the  fact  that  things 
always  do  seem  to  go  his  way  in  the  end.  You 
know,"  he  added  slowly,  "  he  claims  that  it 
isn't  his  way — and  that  that  is  the  reason  of  his 
success." 

"He  says  God  does  it.  D'you  b'lieve  that?" 
Elizabeth  had  been  sitting  in  a  sort  of  mouse- 
like, quivering  quiet,  only  her  bright  black  eyes 
flashing  from  one  speaker  to  the  other  as  the 
talk  went  on,  till  now  suddenly  she  flung  out 
this  statement  and  question.  "  Say — do  you  be- 


236  THEODORE  BRYAN 

lieve  it — honest?"  she  repeated,  the  black  eyes 
keen  and  unflinching,  as  if  they  would  probe  the 
young  man's  very  soul. 

He  looked  at  the  child  for  a  moment  in  silence, 
before  he  answered,  slowly  and  gravely,  as 
if  she  had  been  a  grown  person,  "  Yes,  Eliza- 
beth, I  believe  it,"  and  he  added,  turning  again 
to  his  cousin,  "  and  if  he  cleans  up  Sabin  Street, 
as  he  plans,  I  think  a  great  many  other  people 
will  believe  it  too." 

"  Huh !  "  Elizabeth  grunted,  and  said  no  more ; 
and  presently  she  slipped  away  to  bed. 

At  breakfast  the  next  morning  she  demanded, 
with  a  spice  of  malice  in  her  dark  eyes,  "  Which 
ye  goin'  to  do,  Miss  Marjorie — stick  it  out  till 
Mother  Knowles  comes  back,  or  cut  'n'  run?" 

Marjorie  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  know  yet, 
Elizabeth — it  depends." 

"  Depends  on  what — me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  Marjorie  laughed,  "  you  are  only 
one  little  girl.  It  depends  on  much  bigger  things 
— and  people — than  you." 

"  Huh !  "  the  child  muttered  doubtfully.  To 
herself,  her  small  personality  loomed  so  large, 
that  she  really  found  difficulty  in  believing  that 
she  counted  for  little  to  Marjorie. 

"  I  dunno's  I  like  her — much,"  Elizabeth  told 
herself  as  she  trudged  off  to  school,  "  but  I  do 
like  to  see  those  little  holes  come  in  her  cheeks 
when  she  laughs.  'F  I  was  pretty  like  her, 
mebbe  I  wouldn't  be  so  hateful's  I  be  now, 
sometimes,"  the  little  unconscious  beauty-wor- 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    237 

shipper  added,  with  a  long  breath.  "  An'  if  she 
liked  me,  truly — but  she  don't,  'n'  I  don't  care — 
so  there !  "  And  tossing  aside  the  thoughts  that 
made  her  vaguely  uncomfortable,  she  went 
briskly  on  her  way. 

As  for  Marjorie,  she  soon  began  to  find  the 
household  cares,  even  for  only  two,  something 
of  a  burden.  With  the  planning  of  the  three 
meals  a  day,  the  marketing  and  cooking,  the 
table-setting  and  dish-washing,  sweeping  and 
dusting,  she  found  her  time  filled,  and  found 
herself  unaccountably  tired.  It  was  so  different 
from  sharing  the  work  with  Mrs.  Knowles, 
whose  swift  experienced  hands  seemed  to  ac- 
complish so  much  with  so  little  effort.  And 
then  there  were  so  many  interruptions.  There 
was  scarcely  an  hour  in  the  day  when  some 
woman  or  child  did  not  come  in  search  of  the 
big-hearted  "  mother "  of  Green  Tree  House. 
Marjorie  was  at  first  amused,  and  finally  very 
sober  and  thoughtful  as  she  was  forced  to  see 
for  how  little  she  counted  in  the  estimation  of 
these  Sabin  Street  people.  In  her  own  world 
she  was  used  to  count  for  a  great  deal,  but  here 
— "  They  care  more  for  Mother  Knowles'  little 
finger  than  for  a  dozen  useless  creatures  like  me," 
she  told  herself. 

She  had  taken  up  a  garment  of  Elizabeth's 
that  needed  mending — if  there  was  a  nail  any- 
where it  always  seemed  to  jump  at  Elizabeth — 
when  there  came  a  low  tap  at  the  door.  Open- 
ing it,  she  found  there  a  woman  with  one  baby 


288  THEODORE  BRYAN 

in  her  arms  and  another  barely  old  enough  to 
walk,  that  she  held  by  the  hand. 

"  Come  in,  won't  you  ?  "  Mar  jorie  tried  to  give 
the  invitation  cordially,  but  her  heart  sank  as 
she  looked  into  the  woman's  face  with  its  weak 
mouth  and  hard  eyes.  Unconsciously  she  swept 
her  skirts  aside,  lest  the  faded  blue  alpaca  dress, 
splotched  with  mud  and  dotted  with  grease  spots, 
should  rub  against  her.  The  children  with  their 
narrow  foreheads,  red-rimmed,  pale  blue  eyes, 
and  loose-lipped  mouths — specimens  of  the  low- 
est and  most  hopeless  type  of  tenement-house 
life — made  the  girl  shudder.  She  drew  forward 
a  chair,  and  the  woman  dropped  into  it  with  a 
breath  of  relief. 

"  I  do  get  so  tired  luggin'  one  of  'em  and 
yankin'  the  other  along,"  she  said,  and  Marjorie 
felt  a  faint  stirring  of  sympathy  in  her  heart. 
The  woman  did  look  tired. 

"  I'll  make  you  a  cup  of  tea  while  you  rest," 
she  said.  When  she  returned  from  the  kitchen 
with  the  tea  and  some  cookies,  the  woman's  hag- 
gard face  brightened. 

"  I  wonder  sometimes  how  we  ever  got  along 
here  on  Sabin  Street  before  Mother  Knowles 
came  to  Green  Tree  House,"  she  said.  "  Many's 
the  nice  hot  cup  like  this  she's  given  me."  She 
thrust  a  cooky  into  the  hand  of  each  child,  then 
sipped  her  tea  slowly,  evidently  prolonging  the 
enjoyment  of  it  as  much  as  possible.  But  when 
cup  and  plate  were  empty  she  was  ready  to  talk. 

"  I  didn't  know   till   I   was   'most  here   that 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    239 

Mother  Knowles  was  down  nursin'  them  Shan- 
ley  kids,"  she  began.  "  I'm  sorry  she  ain't  here, 
for  I  wanted  to  talk  with  her  about  my  Maggie. 
I  dunno  "—she  eyed  Marjorie  doubtfully — "  I 
guess  you  ain't  likely  to  know  much  about  such 
girls  as  Maggie.  She's  fifteen — the  oldest  of 
eight — an'  she's  one  o'  them  takin'  kind  o'  girls' 
that  gets  too  much  notice  for  their  own  good. 
The's  a  young  feller  goin'  with  her,  an'  he's 
crazy  to  be  married  right  away,  but  I  tell  Maggie 
she's  too  young — she  better  wait  three  or  four 
years.  But  I  dunno — if  I  go  against  it  too 
strong,  I'm  afraid  she'll  run  away  with  him  an' 
mebbe  not  get  married  at  all — girls  like  that  are 
such  crazy  fools,  you  know.  Her  father,  he 
hates  Joe  Veery — that's  the  feller's  name — an'  he 
goes  on  so  at  Maggie  that  I'm  scared  sometimes 
he'll  drive  her  out  on  the  street,  or  she'll  go  her- 
self to  get  away  from  his  naggin'.  I  thought 
mebbe  Mother  Knowles  would  talk  it  over  with 
me  an'  tell  me  what  I  better  say  to  Maggie — 
or  else  talk  to  Maggie  herself.  Maggie'd  listen 
to  Mother  Knowles,  if  she'd  listen  to  anybody. 
She  says  she's  the  only  real  good  woman  she  ever 
knew,  'n'  I  guess  likely  that's  so." 

"  Is  Maggie  one  of  Mrs.  Knowles'  girls — one 
of  those  that  come  to  sew  or  cook?"  Marjorie 
questioned,  casting  about  desperately  in  her  mind 
for  the  right  thing  to  say. 

"  Well,  yes — that  is,  she's  been  here  off  'n'  on. 
She  made  herself  a  right  pretty  shirtwaist  in 
the  sewin'  class,  Maggie  did.  She's  real  smart 


240  THEODORE  BRYAN 

She's  workin'  in  a  laundry  now,  an'  gettin'  her 
four  dollars  a  week,  reg'lar.  My  land!  If  I 
was  gettin'  four  dollars  a  week,  I  guess  the' 
wouldn't  no  fool  of  a  man  tempt  me  to  marry 
him,"  the  woman  added,  shifting  the  dull-eyed 
baby  from  one  knee  to  the  other.  "  '  Look  at 
me,'  I  says  to  Maggie,  only  last  night.  '  If  you 
get  married,  in  a  year  or  two  you'll  be  all  dragged 
out  same's  I  be.  Why  don't  ye  stay  as  you 
be,  V  keep  your  good  looks,  an'  have  nice 
clothes  to  wear  ? '  I  says ;  but  there !  You  might 
as  well  save  your  breath,  she's  that  headstrong — 
is  Maggie.  An'  that  ain't  sayin'  that  she's  a 
bad  girl  either,  for  she  ain't.  She's  got  a  va- 
cation now  for  a  week,  'n'  I  s'pose  that'll  be 
the  end  of  it.  She'll  marry  Joe  Veery  an'  never 
go  back  to  the  laundry,  an'  what  we're  goin'  to 
do  at  home  without  the  dollar  a  week  she  gives 
me,  I  don't  know." 

In  Marjorie's  heart  a  voice  was  whispering 
insistently.  She  tried  not  to  listen  to  it,  tried  to 
drown  it  in  the  woman's  endless  complaints, 
to  silence  it  by  her  own  objections  and  argu- 
ments ;  but  still  and  small  though  it  was,  it  would 
be  heard. 

"  You  can  help  Maggie.  Perhaps  you  can 
save  her — try,  try!  Perhaps  this  is  your  chance 
— your  call  to  service.  Do  you  dare  to  refuse? 
Do  it,  oh,  do  it,  Marjorie  Armstrong! "  So  that 
inner  voice  pleaded  and  urged  more  and  more 
insistently,  till  at  last  the  girl  spoke,  hoping  des- 
perately that  her  proposal  would  be  refused 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE   241 

"Do  you  think  that  Maggie  would  like — 
would  care  to  stay  here  with  me  for  a  few 
days  ?  "  she  stammered.  "  Maybe  " — having  put 
her  hand  to  the  plough  she  dared  not  look  back ; 
she  hurried  on  breathlessly,  "  maybe  I  could 
help  her  make  something — some  pretty  clothes 
for  herself — if  you  think  she  would  like  to 
come — and  wouldn't  find  it  too  quiet  and  lonely 
here." 

"My,  my!  If  that  won't  be  just  elegant! 
I  guess  she  will  like  to  come — she'll  be  too 
proud  to  live  with  us  after  you  invitin'  her  here 
to  stay  with  you.  I  must  go  straight  home  an' 
tell  her.  I  guess  she'll  be  right  over." 

The  woman  rose,  unceremoniously  rousing  the 
baby  from  a  brief  nap,  and  swinging  him  across 
her  shoulder  as  if  he  had  been  merely  the 
bundle  of  rags  he  looked.  "  Come,  Johnny, 
ketch  hold  o'  my  skirt  'n'  come  along  now. 
Good-bye,  miss,  an'  thank  ye." 

As  the  dirty  alpaca  trailed  across  the  hall 
and  through  the  front  door,  Marjorie  drew  a 
long  breath  of  relief,  and  presently  she  threw 
open  all  the  windows,  feeling  that  the  room 
needed  a  thorough  airing.  She  already  regretted 
that  she  had  offered  to  have  Maggie  come.  How 
could  she  endure  the  presence  and  companion- 
ship of  such  a  girl  for  days — how  could  she? 
Of  course  she  was  like  her  mother,  only 
younger.  But  anyhow,  she  could  not  possibly 
be  worse  than  those  dreadful  red-eyed  children. 
Marjorie  pictured  to  herself  a  younger  edition 


242  THEODORE  BRYAN 

of  the  draggled  mother — an  older  edition  of  the 
red-eyed  babies,  and  shuddered. 

The  still  small  voice  in  her  heart  was  silent 
now — had  it  ever  spoken  at  all  ?  Perhaps  it  had 
been  just  her  imagination,  and  if  so,  she  needn't 
do  it  after  all — needn't  have  that  girl  to  stay 
with  her.  No,  she  couldn't  have  her — she 
wouldn't!  She  would  send  word  to  Maggie's 
mother,  and  take  Elizabeth  and  go  home. 

But  then,  with  a  start  of  dismay,  she  remem- 
bered that  she  did  not  know  where  Maggie 
lived — did  not  even  know  her  other  name.  But 
she  could  get  away  before  Maggie  came,  and 
leave  word  with  Bryan.  Even  Theodore 
Bryan  would  not  say  that  she  ought  to  have 
that  girl  to  stay  with  her,  Marjorie  was  sure 
that  he  would  not.  How  could  he  ?  How  could 
anybody?  Yes,  she  would  leave  word  with  him 
for  Maggie.  Elizabeth  would  be  home  in  a  few 
minutes. 

She  started  up  and  crossed  the  room,  but  with 
her  hand  on  the  knob  she  paused  and  stood 
listening,  for  again  that  still  small  voice  was 
speaking  in  her  heart. 

"  How  do  you  know  but  this  may  be  Maggie's 
last  chance  ? "  it  said.  "  Perhaps  you  are  the 
very  one — the  only  one — who  can  save  her  from 
becoming  what  her  mother  is — or  worse.  Do 
you  dare  to  turn  coward  ?  You  promised.  Will 
you  break  your  word  to  Maggie's  mother?" 

For  many  minutes  she  stood  there  with  her 
hand  on  the  door ;  but  at  last,  with  a  long  breath, 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    243 

she  went  back  to  her  seat.  She  could  not  be  a 
coward,  not  in  that  house — the  house  that 
sheltered  Mother  Knowles  and  Theodore  Bryan. 
Unconsciously  she  lifted  her  head,  and  as  she 
did  so,  there  was  a  sound  of  quick  footsteps 
through  the  hall,  and  then  a  hesitating  knock 
at  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  Marjorie  called,  and  the  next 
moment  she  was  looking  with  wondering,  in- 
credulous eyes  into  Maggie's  face. 

"  Takin',"  her  mother  had  called  her,  and  at 
the  first  glance  Marjorie  understood  why,  and 
found  herself  wondering  how  such  a  girl  could 
be  the  child  of  such  a  mother,  for  Maggie  had 
a  fresh,  sonsie  Scotch  face,  with  blue  eyes, 
shaded  by  dark  lashes  and  straight  brows,  and 
her  dark  reddish-brown  hair  curled  and  crinkled 
in  the  prettiest  fashion  about  her  white  forehead 
and  neck. 

At  the  first  glance,  with  a  long  breath  of  sur- 
prise and  relief,  Marjorie's  heart  went  out  to 
the  girl.  It  was  not  only  because  she  was  so 
pretty,  but  it  was  something  in  the  expression 
of  the  clear  blue  eyes — something  half  mis- 
chievous, half  shy,  and  altogether  winning — 
that  made  Marjorie  impulsively  hold  out  both 
hands  as  she  cried : 

"  Oh — are  you  Maggie  ?    Are  you  ?  " 

Maggie  nodded,  and  if  her  mouth  was  some- 
what too  large  for  beauty,  her  smile  made  up 
for  that,  as  Marjorie,  yielding  to  a  sudden  ir- 
resistible impulse,  leaned  forward  and  kissed  her. 


THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Maggie,"  she  said  frankly,  "  I've  been  sit- 
ting here  since  your  mother  left,  dreading  to 
have  you  come,  and  now  I'm  just  glad  that  you 
have  come.  Will  you  stay  with  me  for  a  week 
— will  you  ?  " 

"If  you  want  me,  I  will,"  Maggie  answered,  in 
quick  response  to  what  she  read  in  the  face  and 
the  voice  of  this  other  girl. 

"  I  do  want  you.  You  can't  think  how  lone- 
some I've  been  here  sometimes,  since  Mother 
Knowles  went  away.  I've  half  made  up  my 
mind  a  dozen  times  to  run  off  home,  but  some- 
thing seemed  to  hold  me  here.  I  think  now  it 
must  have  been  because  you  were  coming.  If 
you  get  lonesome  now,  or  homesick,  I  shall  run 
away  surely;  and  think  how  dreadful  it  would 
be  for  Green  Tree  House  to  be  shut  up— this 
part  of  it,  I  mean !  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  it  would  be  dreadful  for  Sabin 
Street,"  returned  Maggie  gravely;  then,  "home- 
sick, you  said  ?  "  A  little  frown  puckered  her 
smooth  forehead,  "  I  guess  I  ain't  very  likely  to 
be  sick  for  my  home  when  I  can  stay  here — 
with  you." 

It  was  a  strange  friendship  that,  in  the  next 
week,  sprang  up,  strong  and  deep-rooted,  be- 
tween these  two  girls,  whose  lives  had  been  in 
every  respect  so  widely  different.  There  were 
no  more  lonely  or  weary  hours  for  Marjorie. 
Maggie,  with  her  young,  joyous  life  and  vigour, 
sharing  the  household  tasks,  made  play  of  them 
for  both.  Even  Elizabeth  was  less  prickly  and 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    245 

impish  than  usual,  and  the  days  slipped  swiftly 
by,  troubled  only  by  anxiety  over  Mother 
Knowles.  Marjorie  wrote  to  her  every  day — 
long,  merry  chronicles  of  the  doings  of  Elizabeth 
and  Duffer,  of  Bryan  and  Teddy,  of  old  Mrs. 
Crum  and  her  gay  pink  slippers — anything  and 
everything  she  could  think  of  that  might  bring 
a  smile  to  tired  eyes  or  a  bit  of  rest  to  a  weary 
heart.  For  things  were  not  going  well  at  the 
Shanleys'.  One  of  the  little  boys  had  followed 
his  mother  into  the  great  Unknown,  and  the 
other  was  still  fighting  desperately  for  his  life. 
And  then  word  came  that  the  brave  little  mother, 
Janie,  was  down  with  the  fever.  Maggie  grieved 
over  that. 

"  Janie  Shanley's  a  good  little  soul — she  ain't 
like  most  of  the  Sabin  Street  girls,"  she  said 
soberly.  "  I  hope  Janie'll  get  well." 

"  I  hope  so,  too,"  Marjorie  responded,  though 
she  felt  no  special  interest  in  Janie,  whom  she 
had  seen  only  once  or  twice. 

Maggie  went  on  with  a  tinge  of  bitterness 
she  had  not  before  manifested,  "  Sometimes, 
though,  I  think  'twould  be  a  mighty  good  thing 
if  all  poor  folks'  children  could  die  while  they're 
babies — before  they  get  old  enough  to  be  bad. 
They  can't  hardly  help  being  bad,  livin'  the  way 
they  do.  You  don't  know  anything  about  it, 
Miss  Marjorie  —  I  do,"  she  ended  with  a 
sigh. 

"  Maggie  " — Marjorie  laid  her  hand  on  Mag- 
gie's— "you  know  what  the  big  brother  and 


246  THEODORE  BRYAN 

his  boys  are  trying  to  do  —  to  close  the  sa- 
loons and  make  Sabin  Street  a  clean,  decent 
place?" 

Maggie  nodded.  "It's  a  big  contract  I 
doubt  they'll  make  it,"  she  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  will  do  it.  The  big  brother 
always  '  makes  it,'  "  Marjorie  returned,  in  a  tone 
of  quiet  assurance  that  half  surprised  herself. 
It  was  a  new  thing  for  her  to  champion  Theo- 
dore Bryan. 

"  Well,  mebbe."  Maggie's  tone  was  somewhat 
dubious.  "  Anyhow,  he's  white  clear  through 
— the  big  brother.  Ain't  any  of  us  that  don't 
know  that.  I  wonder  " — her  voice  took  on  a 
wistful  sadness — "  I  wonder  why  the  good  Lord 
doesn't  make  more  of  that  kind.  I  guess  the 
world  needs  'em  pretty  bad." 

"  You're  right,  Maggie,  the  world  needs  them ; 
but  it  needs  good  women  just  as  much.  Mother 
Knowles  is  one.  I — I  want  to  be  one,  and  Mag- 
gie"— her  hand  tightened  on  the  other  girl's — 
"  you  are  going  to  be  one,  too.  We  will  work 
together,  you  and  I — for  other  girls.  Shall  we 
not?" 

Maggie  hesitated.  "  I  ain't  promisin' — not  till 
I'm  sure "  she  said  slowly. 

Urged  by  some  strong  impulse  that  surprised 
herself,  Marjorie  persisted,  unconsciously  pledg- 
ing herself,  that  she  might  win  Maggie,  but  still 
Maggie  held  back,  though  her  blue  eyes  were  full 
of  trouble. 

"  I'm  thinkin',"  she  said  honestly,  "  that  I  want 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    247 

some  good  times  for  myself — I  ain't  ever  had 
any  yet." 

Marjorie's  cheeks  flushed  as  she  heard  this 
echo  of  her  own  passionate  longings  for  happi- 
ness, but  Maggie  did  not  notice  as  she  hurried 
on,  "  Oh,  Miss  Marjorie,  you  don't  know — you 
can't  even  think  what  'tis  to  have  such  a  home 
as  I've  had — as  most  all  of  us  Sabin  Street  girls 
have.  Mine's  better  than  some,  for  my  father 
ain't  a  hard  drinker.  He  goes  to  the  saloon 
because  there  ain't  any  other  place  where  he 
can  get  a  bit  of  comfort.  I'd  go  there  too,  if 
I  was  a  man.  He  gives  most  of  his  money  to 
mother,  but  there's  eight  of  us  children — ten 
in  all  to  feed  and  clothe — after  a  fashion,  an' 
there's  the  rent  too.  I  tell  you,  Miss  Marjorie, 
it  ain't  easy  to  make  forty  dollars  a  month  do 
all  that,  an'  mother  don't  know  very  well  how 
to  make  the  most  of  what  she  has.  How  should 
she?  She's  never  had  a  chance  to  learn  how 
till  now,  since  she's  begun  to  come  here  to  this 
house.  An'  anyway,  she's  always  dragged  to 
death,  an'  there's  always  a  new  baby,  an'  the 
older  ones  runnin'  wild  in  the  streets,  an'  growin' 
up  to  be  bad,  most  likely.  Would  you  want  to 
stay  in  that  kind  of  a  home,  Miss  Marjorie?" 
She  flung  the  question  half  defiantly  at  the 
other  girl. 

"  No,  Maggie,  no,  I  shouldn't,"  Marjorie  re- 
turned, "only " 

But  Maggie,  having  begun  to  open  her  heart 
to  this  new  friend,  seemed  to  find  relief  in  tell- 


248  THEODORE  BRYAN 

ing  her  the  whole  of  her  pitiful  little  life  story. 
"  No,  I  guess  you  wouldn't!"  she  repeated  pas- 
sionately. "  And  I  guess  you'd  say  '  yes  '  to  the 
first  decent  fellow  that  offered  to  give  you  a 
better  home ;  an'  that's  why  I  promised  to  marry 
Joe  Veery.  He  don't  go  to  the  saloons — any- 
how he  says  he  don't.  He  makes  good  wages, 
an' — an'  most  anything's  better  than  stayin' 
home." 

"  But,  Maggie  " — Marjorie's  colour  deepened, 
and  she  spoke  half  shyly,  yet  very  earnestly — "  do 
you  care  for  him?  Because  you  mustn't  marry 
him,  you  know,  unless  you  do." 

"  I  don't  care  so  very  much,"  Maggie  an- 
swered composedly. 

"  Oh,  then  don't  marry  him,  Maggie,"  Mar- 
jorie  pleaded  earnestly.  "You're  so  young, 
hardly  more  than  a  little  girl " 

"  I'll  be  sixteen  in  three  months,"  Maggie 
interrupted. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  sixteen  is  too  young  to 
marry." 

Maggie's  mouth  hardened.  "  I  can't  stay 
home  no  longer,  'n'  I  won't — that's  all  there  is 
to  it.  I've  made  up  my  mind,"  she  declared. 

"  But  suppose,"  Marjorie  cried  eagerly,  "  some 
other  way  should  open  for  you ;  would  you  wait 
then — would  you,  Maggie?" 

"  There  isn't  any  other  way."  Maggie's  voice 
was  hopeless. 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is — we'll  find  one,  sure.  Do 
you  like  your  work  at  the  laundry?" 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    249 

"  I  like  the  money  I  get  for  it,"  laughed  the 
girl.  "  An'  I  don't  mind  the  work  much 
neither — just  runnin'  collars  and  cuffs  through 
the  machine.  It's  only  " — the  pretty  frank  face 
darkened  suddenly  at  some  black  memory — 
"  it's  only  some  o'  them  that  work  there  that  I 
hate.  Some  of  the  men  are  a  bad  lot,  an'  the 
girls,  they're  pretty  rough  too,  most  of  'em." 

"  Maggie,"  Marjorie  cried  out  impulsively, 
seeing  a  possible  opening,  "  how  would  you  like 
to  have  a  couple  of  rooms  all  to  yourself,  with 
a  washing  and  a  drying  machine,  and  do  fine 
laundry  work — ladies'  shirtwaists,  and  white 
dresses,  and  fine  handkerchiefs,  and  laces — how 
would  you  like  that  ? " 

Maggie's  eyes  widened,  and  she  clasped  her 
hands  tightly  in  her  lap  as  she  replied  quickly, 
"  Ah,  wouldn't  I  like  it !  "  But  the  next  moment 
the  light  died  out  of  her  face,  as  she  sighed, 
"  But  what's  the  use  of  talking?  It  would  take 
an  awful  lot  of  money  to  start  that  way.  I  never 
could  do  it." 

is  I'll  lend  you  the  money."  Marjorie's  eyes 
were  shining  and  her  voice  full  of  eager  interest, 
"  And  I'm  sure  I  could  get  you  all  the  fine  work 
you  could  do — there'd  be  mine  to  begin  with. 
I  send  it  to  the  laundry  now,  and  they  tear  and 
ruin  fine  things  there.  Maggie,  dear" — she 
leaned  forward,  her  eyes  full  of  a  compelling 
earnestness — "  won't  you  try  it  for  a  year — for 
six  months  even — won't  you,  because  I  want  you 
to  so  very  much  ?  " 


250  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Mebbe  I  couldn't  pay  back  your  money," 
Maggie  objected,  but  the  eager  light  had  leaped, 
like  an  electric  spark,  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  Maggie's  blue  eyes  now  were  all  a-glow. 

"It  wouldn't  matter  if  you  didn't.  Ti  never 
miss  the  money — but  I  know  you  would  pay  it 
back,"  Marjorie  told  her.  "  Promise  me,  Mag- 
gie, and  we'll  go  this  very  day,  and  find  the 
rooms  for  you." 

"  We-ell,"  Maggie  yielded  reluctantly,  fear- 
ing, in  fact,  to  pin  her  faith  to  such  undreamed- 
of good  fortune,  "  well,  we'll  see  first  if  we  can 
find  the  rooms.  Mother'll  be  mad  at  me,"  she 
added,  "but  I  can't  help  that,  an*  Joe,  he 
won't  like  it  either,  but  that  won't  kill  me,  I 
guess,"  and  she  threw  back  her  head  with  a 
gay  laugh. 

Having  gained  thus  much,  Marjorie  was 
moved  to  push  her  victory  a  step  further. 

"  You  don't  really  care  much  for  him,  Maggie ; 
you  said  so.  Promise  me  that,  if  my  plan  works, 
you  won't  think  of  marrying  him  for  a  year  any- 
how. Maybe  before  that  time  you'll  meet  some 
one  you  will  really  care  for,"  she  urged. 

Maggie  laughed  again.  "  There's  plenty  of 
'em  always  hangin'  round  a  girl,"  she  declared, 
the  colour  deepening  in  her  round  cheeks.  Then 
with  a  quick,  impulsive  motion,  she  turned  to 
the  other  girl  and  added,  "You've  been  awful 
good  to  me,  Miss  Marjorie,  an*  now  when 
you're  offering  to  do  so  much,  I'd  be  real  mean 
if  I  didn't  do  what  you  ask.  So  yes,  I  promise 


MARJORIE'S  CALL  TO  SERVICE    251 

you  I  won't  think  of  marryin'  Joe  Veery  nor 
any  other  fellow  for  a  year — honest,  I  won't." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Maggie,  thank  you — you've 
made  me  so  happy !  "  Marjorie  cried,  and  then 
for  a  moment  she  was  silent,  filled  with  wonder 
at  herself.  Was  it  really  she — Marjorie  Arm- 
strong— so  happy  because  this  pretty  little  laun- 
dry girl  had  promised  not  to  run  away  with  a 
man  she  cared  nothing  for  ? 

"  I  begin  to  understand — a  little — what  it  all 
means  to  Theodore  Bryan  and  Mother  Knowles," 
she  mused.  "  It  is  touching  lives"  And  then 
a  great  wave  of  joy  swept  over  her — a  wave 
that  seemed  to  lift  her  soul  to  a  higher  level. 

So  she  smiled  into  the  honest  blue  eyes  that 
had  been  curiously  studying  her  face,  and  said 
softly,  but  very  earnestly,  "  I  can't  tell  you  how 
glad  I  am,  Maggie." 

And  Maggie,  wondering  and  wistful,  vaguely 
conscious  of  something  she  could  not  hope  to 
understand,  answered  with  a  new  humility: 

"  I  didn't  s'pose  you'd  care  so  much,  Miss 
Marjorie.  I  don't  see  why  you  should." 


XIV 
GATHERING  UP  THE  THREADS 

MARJORIE   lost   no   time   in   clinching 
the  nail  of  Maggie's  resolution.     She 
consulted  with  Bryan,  who  undertook 
to  find  rooms  suitable  for  Maggie,  and  some  one 
to  live  with  her  and  help  with  the  work.     But 
rooms  in  that  neighbourhood  were  hard  to  find, 
and   Maggie's  hopes   were   fading  when   Mar- 
jorie  had  an  inspiration. 

"  There's  that  vacant  house  right  back  of  this 
that's  for  sale.  I  will  buy  it,  and  Maggie  can 
have  the  rooms  she  needs  and  we  can  rent  the 
others  to  good  tenants.  Then  we  can  have  a 
gate  in  the  back  fence,  so  we  can  go  back 
and  forth  when  we  like.  What  do  you  say, 
Maggie  ?  " 

"  Oh !  "  breathed  Maggie,  her  eyes  shining  with 
glad  anticipation. 

"  That  will  do,  provided  the  price  is  reason- 
able. How  much  would  you  be  willing  to  pay 
for  the  house,  Miss  Armstrong  ? "  Bryan 
enquired. 

"  Oh,  whatever  the  owner  asks  for  it,"  she 
replied  carelessly. 

And  then  suddenly  Theodore  Bryan  was  re- 


GATHERING  UP  THE  THREADS  253 

minded  of  what  for  a  little  he  had  forgotten — 
that  Marjorie  Armstrong  was  not  of  his  world. 
She  belonged  to  the  world  of  wealth,  and  leisure, 
and  culture  from  which,  by  his  own  deliberate 
choice,  he  had  shut  himself  out  for  all  time. 
He  took  himself  sternly  in  hand,  and  banished 
all  day  dreams  from  his  mind.  He  attended  to 
the  purchase  of  the  house,  and  helped  the  two 
girls  to  plan  the  necessary  changes  and  repairs, 
but  he  saw  no  more  of  Marjorie  than  was  ab- 
solutely necessary. 

The  days  that  followed  each  brought  its  prob- 
lems and  duties  to  the  girl.  Maggie  stayed  on 
at  Green  Tree  House,  while  the  other  house  was 
being  made  ready,  and  daily  Marjorie  was  called 
upon  to  give  help  and  advice  to  the  girls  and 
women  who  had  fallen  into  the  way  of  bringing 
all  their  troubles  to  Mother  Knowles. 

Some  of  the  girls  were  rather  shy  with  her, 
and  some  would  not  open  their  hearts  at  all  to 
her — only  running  in  frequently  to  enquire  what 
word  had  come  from  Mother  Knowles,  and  how 
she  was,  and  when  she  would  be  home  again; 
but  the  women,  strangely  enough,  were  more 
ready  to  tell  their  troubles  to  the  girl.  Perhaps 
it  was  that  the  telling  to  any  one  was  a  relief  and 
comfort  to  them.  Some  of  them  said  so,  in  fact, 
and  Marjorie  listened  and  sympathised,  and  gave 
money  often,  and  not  always  wisely — and  when 
the  last  draggled,  frowzy  woman  had  swept  her 
trailing  skirts  out  of  the  door,  would  fling  her- 
self wearily  on  the  lounge,  feeling  as  if  all  the 


254  THEODORE  BRYAN 

sins  and  sorrows  of  the  great  city  had  been 
poured  out  upon  her  spirit. 

"  You  take  these  things  too  hard,  Miss  Mar- 
jorie — you  do,  indeed,"  Maggie  said  to  her  one 
evening.  "You  let  them  women  tell  you  all 
their  troubles,  and  you  think  they  worry  over 
'em  same  as  you  do,  but  they  don't.  They  get 
hardened  to  'em.  I  know.  I  know  how  'tis 
with  mother.  Things  don't  really  worry  her  half 
as  much  as  she  thinks  they  do." 

"  I  hope  not,  Maggie,"  replied  Marjorie 
wearily.  "  Sometimes  it  seems  as  if  I  shall  scream 
if  I  have  to  listen  to  another  such  story  as  most 
of  them  tell  me.  I  do  wonder  how  dear  Mother 
Knowles  ever  stands  it." 

"  Mother  Knowles "  Maggie  interrupted 

herself  suddenly  to  ask,  "  You  haven't  heard 
from  her  to-day,  have  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I'll  go  down  now  and  see  if  Mr.  Bryan 
has,  while  you  put  the  supper  on  the  table," 
Marjorie  said,  forgetting  her  weariness  in  her 
anxiety.  She  returned  directly,  her  face  full  of 
trouble. 

"  Janie  is  better  and  Dick  too,  he  says,  but 
Mother  Knowles  herself  is  sick  now,"  she 
reported. 

"  Mother  Knowles,"  echoed  Maggie,  dismay 
in  eyes  and  voice.  "Oh,  dear,  dear!  Them 
Shanleys  ain't  worth  it ! "  she  added  passion- 
ately. 

"  She  would  say  they  are,"  Marjorie  reminded, 
gently. 


GATHERING  UP  THE  THREADS  255 

"  And  who's  taking  care  of  her?  "  Maggie  de- 
manded with  asperity,  meant  not  for  Mrs. 
Knowles,  but  the  luckless  Shanleys. 

"  Theodore — Mr.  Bryan  has  sent  a  nurse  to 
take  care  of  her.  She'll  be  brought  home  as 
soon  as  she's  well  enough,"  Marjorie  answered. 

It  was  a  week  longer  before  she  was  well 
enough,  but  the  day  of  her  return  was  a  high 
festival  at  Green  Tree  House.  The  girls  made 
the  rooms  spotlessly  neat  and  fresh,  and  filled 
every  vase  and  bowl  with  flowers.  They  cooked 
more  delicacies  than  any  well  woman  could  dis- 
pose of,  to  say  nothing  of  a  sick  one ;  and  all 
day  long  the  Sabin  Street  children  kept  coming 
with  gifts  for  dear  Mother  Knowles — pathetic 
little  offerings,  some  of  them,  at  which  Marjorie 
looked  with  wet  eyes. 

And  when  they  had  the  dear  woman  back 
again — pale  and  worn,  but  her  own  bright,  serene 
self — what  a  different  place  the  Green  Tree 
House  was !  Duffer  nearly  went  mad  with  joy, 
and  Elizabeth,  her  sharp,  black  eyes  for  once 
almost  tender,  lugged  out  footstools  and  pillows 
and  shawls  enough  for  half  a  dozen  patients. 
And  old  Mrs.  Crum  sent  her  daughter  down 
with  her  beloved  pink  slumber  slippers — "be- 
cause they're  so  bright  and  tasty,  they'll  kind 
o'  perk  her  up,"  she  said. 

"  Poor  little  Janie  is  on  the  mend,"  Mrs. 
Knowles  told  Theodore,  when,  after  supper,  he 
came  in  to  see  her,  "  and  Dick,  too,  is  picking  up 
slowly,  poor  little  chap.  I  thought  one  time  he 


256  THEODORE  BRYAN 

surely  would  die  too.  They're  out  of  quaran- 
tine now,  but  they  can't  seem  to  rally  from 
the  weakness  the  fever  has  left  behind.  I'm 
so  glad  you're  going  to  get  them  off  into  the 
country.  Delia  ought  to  go  too.  I  don't  know 
how  she  lived  through  it  all,  with  the  baby  to 
see  to,  besides  those  three  sick  children.  Theo- 
dore, that  poor  girl  was  splendid.  If  those 
children  had  been  her  own  she  could  not  have 
done  more  for  them.  She  never  seemed  to 
think  of  herself  through  it  all." 

"  She,  too,  shall  have  a  rest  in  the  country," 
Bryan  said.  "  I've  arranged  it  with  the  help 
of  one  of  the  Fresh  Air  Clubs,  and  they  are  all 
to  go  next  week,  so  now  you  need  not  worry 
over  them  any  more.  What  you  have  to  do  is  to 
rest  and  get  strong  yourself." 

Mrs.  Knowles  smiled  down  at  Elizabeth,  who 
was  sitting  bolt  upright,  but  close  to  her  side, 
and  then  her  glance  wandered  to  the  other  side 
of  the  room  where  the  two  girls  were  reading — 
such  pretty  girls  both  of  them,  yet  whole  worlds 
apart,  in  spite  of  their  warm  friendship. 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  Marjorie  is  looking  a 
little  thin  and  pale,"  she  said  in  a  low  tone  to 
Theodore.  "  I'm  afraid  she  has  had  too  much 
to  do  while  I've  been  away." 

"No,  she  hasn't — I've  helped  a  lot.  So  has 
Maggie,"  Elizabeth  put  in  jealously,  with,  as 
usual,  the  effect  of  a  nervous  little  terrier  snap- 
ping at  a  fly. 

"  I'm  sure  you've  helped,  dear,  I  knew  you 


GATHERING  UP  THE  THREADS  257 

would/'  Mrs.  Knowles  said,  smiling  kindly  down 
again  into  the  sharp  little  face;  whereupon, 
Elizabeth's  conscience  giving  her  a  nudge,  she 
added  in  a  lower  tone,  "  But  I  wasn't  good  all 
the  time.  Sometimes  I  was  bad — not  very  often 
though." 

"  I  guess  we're  all  bad  sometimes,  child,"  the 
tender  voice  comforted.  And  then,  to  her  own 
immense  surprise,  Elizabeth  sniffed,  but  very 
softly,  holding  her  eyes  wide  open  lest  any  one 
suspect  her  of  "  snivelling."  Cry-babies  Eliza- 
beth viewed  with  scorn  unutterable. 

Presently  the  two  girls  came  over  by  the 
fire — a  little  fire  was  not  unwelcome,  spring, 
though  it  was — and  Mother  Knowles  had  to  hear 
the  whole  story  of  the  house  that  had  been  pur- 
chased, and  the  rooms  that  were  being  fitted 
up  for  Maggie  and  a  woman  that  had  been 
found  to  live  with  her — a  woman  who  had  been 
trying  to  keep  soul  and  body  together  on  the 
pittance  she  earned  by  slop-work. 

"Only  think  of  it,  Mother  Knowles,"  Mar- 
jorie  cried  out,  "  that  poor  Miss  Slater  has  been 
making  wrappers  at  sixty  cents  a  dozen,  and  out- 
ing shirts  at  fifty  cents!  Is  it  any  wonder  she's 
worn  to  skin  and  bones?  She  is  going  to  live 
with  Maggie  on  the  first  floor.  They'll  have 
four  rooms,  and  she  says  she's  so  happy  over 
it  that  she  positively  can't  sleep  nights,"  the  girl 
ended,  with  a  catch  in  her  voice. 

Mrs.  Knowles  looked  almost  as  happy  over 
it  as  poor  Miss  Slater.  Her  eyes  lingered  lov- 


258  THEODORE  BRYAN 

ingly  on  Mar j  one's  face,  seeing  the  new  expres- 
sion in  the  dark  eyes.  The  restless,  unsatisfied 
look  that  had  sometimes  marred  the  beauty  of 
the  young  face,  was  gone  now,  and  in  its  place 
was  a  gentle  gravity  and  peace. 

"  It  hasn't  hurt  the  child — the  care  and  re- 
sponsibility and  all,  of  these  weeks,"  she  mused. 
"  She  looks  to  me  as  if  she  had  found  peace 

at  last.  I  wonder "  Her  glance  turned  to 

Bryan,  lingering  with  even  greater  tenderness 
on  his  plain  face.  Then  she  shook  her  head 
slightly,  and  left  her  sentence  unfinished,  even 
to  her  own  thought. 

"And  how  about  the  crusade,  Theodore?" 
she  questioned,  after  a  brief  moment's  silence. 
"  Is  it  progressing,  or  have  the  boys  lost  their 
enthusiasm  ?  " 

"They  haven't  lost  a  bit.  On  the  contrary, 
I  .think  the  crusading  spirit  grows  stronger  the 
more  opposition  they  meet,  and  they  are  meeting 
with  plenty." 

She  nodded.  "  Tell  me  all  about  it,"  she  said. 
"  You  didn't  give  me  half  the  news  I  wanted, 
in  your  letters,  though  it  was  so  good  of  you 
both  to  write  so  often.  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  have  done  without  your  letters  through 
those  long  weeks."  She  looked  from  one  to  the 
other  with  grateful  affection  in  her  tender  eyes. 

"  The  boys  have  gotten  about  the  whole  of 
the  old  'gang'  enlisted  now,"  Theo  told  her. 
"  To  clean  up  Sabin  Street,  and  go  against  Boss 
Brady  to  do  it — as  they  must — is  such  a  stupen- 


GATHERING  UP  THE  THREADS  259 

dous  undertaking  that  the  very  immensity  of  it 
instead  of  daunting  the  boys,  seems  actually  to 
have  captured  their  imaginations.  The  men, 
mostly,  laugh  at  the  idea,  not  believing  that  the 
boys  can  ever  carry  it  through;  but  I  believe 
they  will — I  really  do,  Mother  Knowles.  There 
are  three  of  them  who  are  enthused  clear 
through,  and  who  do  you  think  two  of  those 
three  are  ?  " 

Mrs.  Knowles  considered  for  a  moment ;  then, 
"  Black  Jim  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Yes,  Black  Jim,  though  I  can't  imagine  how 
you  guessed.  And  Tom  Brown  is  the  second, 
and  the  third  is — Tony  Trudo." 

"  Tony  Trudo !  Well,  that  does  surprise  me. 
How  did  you  ever  get  him  stirred  up  in  such  a 
cause?  " 

"/  didn't — it  was  my  poor  little  Tommy 
O'Brien.  I  told  Tony  about  Tommy — that  his 
life  of  suffering  was  due  to  his  father  nearly 
killing  him,  when  Tommy  was  a  baby,  and  the 
father  had  been  drinking.  That  settled  the  mat- 
ter for  Tony — that  and  Tommy's  delight  when 
he  heard  about  the  crusade.  Those  three  are 
like  a  flame,  and  every  boy  they  tackle  seems  to 
catch  more  or  less  of  the  fire  from  them.  I've 
told  Tommy  stories  of  the  old  Crusades,  of  King 
Arthur  and  his  knights,  and  Tommy  suggested 
that  the  boys  all  be  knights  of  the  white  flag — 
white  for  purity,  not  cowardice,  you  may  be 
sure.  You  know  how  easily  a  boy's  imagination 
is  fired.  They  caught  at  the  suggestion,  and 


260  THEODORE  BRYAN 

now  the  knights  meet  every  week  in  the  fire 
room,  and  every  one  wears  a  tiny  white  flag  on 
his  jacket.  Tommy,  poor  lad,  is  so  proud  of 
his  that  I  believe  he  wears  it  day  and  night. 
Now  there  is  hardly  a  boy  in  the  neighbourhood 
who  is  not  wild  to  be  a  knight.  It  has  made  a 
wonderful  difference  already  in  the  street,  for 
the  'gang'  now  has  an  outlet  for  its  surplus 
energy  and  doesn't  have  to — tie  tin  cans  on  the 
tails  of  stray  dogs,"  he  ended  with  a  smile  and 
a  glance  at  Duffer  curled  up  on  his  mistress' 
skirt. 

"This  is  news  worth  hearing,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
exclaimed,  her  warm  interest  driving  the 
shadows  from  her  tired  eyes.  "  It  is  splendid, 
Theodore,  but  what  if  the  boys  lose  their  fight?  " 

"  Even  then  the  fight  itself,  in  such  a  spirit, 
and  with  such  a  purpose,  will  do  them  a  world 
of  good.  It  is  making  men  of  them  fast.  But 
they  won't  lose — they  are  going  to  win." 

"  Win,  against  the  liquor  men  and  Boss 
Brady?  It  hardly  seems  possible." 

"  '  All  things  are  possible, '  "  Theodore  quoted 
in  a  low  tone.  "  But  I've  kept  you  talking  long 
enough.  You  must  get  a  good  rest  to-night," 
and  with  that  he  went  away. 

A  week  later,  a  very  happy  Maggie  was  in- 
stalled, with  a  no  less  happy  Miss  Slater,  in  the 
renovated  house,  and  the  hands  of  both  were 
soon  full  of  work. 

"  It's  pure  fun  to  wash  and  iron  with  these 
machines  and  everything  right  to  our  hands," 


GATHERING  UP  THE  THREADS  261 

Maggie  declared  joyously,  "and  my!  the  price 
we  get  for  the  work!  I  can't  hardly  believe  it 
yet.  If  it  keeps  on,  we'll  make  a  hundred  dol- 
lars a  month,  Miss  Slater'n  me  together — a 
hundred  dollars  a  month,  just  think  of  it!  And 
I'm  handin'  mother  three  dollars  a  week,  so  she's 
satisfied,  for  that's  more  than  I  gave  her  when 
I  was  at  the  laundry.  And  I've  you  to  thank 
for  it  all,"  Maggie  ended,  her  blue  eyes  brim- 
ming with  grateful  affection  as  she  looked  at 
her  friend. 

And  Marjorie  answered,  "  Maggie,  I  shall 
never  cease  to  be  glad  that  you  came  to  Green 
Tree  House  that  day,  before  I  had  a  chance  to 
be  a  coward  and  desert." 

Into  Maggie's  eyes  there  crept  a  shrewd 
twinkle  as  she  made  quick  reply.  "  You'd 
never  'a'  done  it,  Miss  Marjorie.  You  needn't 
tell  me!" 


<.       XV 
BRADY  AND  OTHERS 

«T   TOW  goes  the  crusade,  Teddy?"  Mar- 

I  I  jorie  asked  one  evening  a  week  or  two 
-*-  -*•  later,  when  her  cousin  had  come  to  sit 
for  an  hour  by  Mrs.  Knowles'  fire. 

"You  never  saw  anything  like  it,"  he  an- 
swered, his  face  kindling  with  quick  interest. 
"  I  was  in  my  workroom  when  they  had  their 
last  meeting  in  the  fire  room,  and  to  hear  those 
boys — well,  as  they  would  express  it, '  it  certainly 
does  beat  the  band.'  When  I  heard  those 
chaps  talk,  and  thought  of  what  they  were 
when  we  came  here  to  Sabin  Street,  I  felt 
that  Bryan's  choice  of  his  life  work  was  fully 
justified.  A  man  who  can  win  such  boys  in  so 
short  a  time,  and  fairly  make  them  over,  as  he 
has  done,  could  hardly  be  doing  as  much  for 
the  world  in  any  other  way.  They  believe  in 
him  absolutely,  as  well  they  may.  Some  of  them 
just  about  worship  him,  you  know." 

"  I  wonder  how  he  does  it — how  he  tames 
such  little  savages  as  they  were,"  Marjorie  said, 
half  to  herself.  "  How  does  he  do  it,  Teddy?  " 

"He  makes  them  feel  that  he  has  faith  in 
them,"  explained  Marston  slowly,  "  and  they  are 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  263 

sharp  enough  to  see  that  it's  no  make-believe — 
that  he  really  does  believe  in  them.  He  just 
tells  them  what  he  expects  of  them,  and  they 
never  seem  to  think  that  they  can  disappoint 
him.  That's  one  part  of  it.  Then  he  keeps  them 
so  busy  '  helping '  in  one  way  or  another,  that 
they've  no  time  for  the  mischief  they  used  to 
be  at.  He  holds  up  his  own  high  ideals  be- 
fore them,  and  I  tell  you  they  have  to  step 
lively  to  keep  up  with  him.  And  then,  he's  so 
conveniently  and  wisely  deaf  and  blind  to 
many  of  their  slips,  petty  slips,  you  know — he's 
never  blind  or  deaf  to  the  really  important  ones 
— and  there  are  times  when  he's  just  a  boy  with 
them,  as  full  of  quips,  and  quirks,  and  jokes,  and 
frolics,  as  any  one  of  the  crowd,  and  they  like 
that.  That's  his  way  of  showing  them  that  boys 
can  have  fun,  clean  honest  fun,  that  may  leave 
some  bumps  and  bruises  on  heads  and  hands,  but 
never  any  scars  on  their  souls.  I  tell  you,  little 
girl,  it's  a  liberal  education  in  soul-training  to  live 
for  a  year  with  Theodore  Bryan — God  bless 
him!" 

"  He  surely  will,"  put  in  Mrs.  Knowles,  in  her 
quiet  way. 

"I'm  getting  a  bit  anxious  about  Bryan," 
Marston  went  on  gravely.  "  He's  the  one  the 
liquor-men  will  strike  at.  I  gave  several  of  the 
boys  a  word  of  warning  the  other  night,  and 
they  promised  to  keep  eyes  and  ears  open  and 
give  me  warning  in  case  of  need." 

"You're   afraid  that  they  wfll   try  to  hurt 


264  THEODORE  BRYAN 

Theodore— or  kill  him  ?  "  Mrs.  Knowles  ques- 
tioned, anxiety  in  face  and  voice. 

Teddy  nodded.  "  Some  of  those  who  are  go- 
ing to  take  a  hand  in  this  fight  soon,  will  stop 
at  nothing,"  he  said  gravely,  "  but  you  know  what 
Bryan  would  say — that  no  harm  can  come  to 
him — whatever  comes  will  be  good,"  Marston 
ended  in  a  low,  moved  voice. 

"  And  he's  right,"  Mrs.  Knowles  agreed,  "  but 
still " 

"  But  still,"  Marston  took  up  the  broken  sen- 
tence, "  we'll  do  our  best  to  safeguard  him.  He 
has  no  idea  of  it,  but  he  never  goes  out  now 
at  night  without  a  bodyguard  of  the  boys,  who 
keep  him  in  sight,  and  they  are  keeping  watch, 
too,  on  several  suspicious  characters." 

"  Have  they  succeeded  in  closing  up  any  more 
of  the  saloons?"  Marjorie  enquired. 

"  Not  yet,  but  the  trade  is  falling  off  in  the 
Sabin  Street  places,  and  some  of  the  saloon- 
keepers are  making  savage  threats.  Others, 
wiser  in  their  generation,  are  offering  special 
inducements  to  boys.  In  one  place,  any  boy  can 
get  a  cigarette  if  he  will  go  into  the  saloon  for 
it,  even  if  he  doesn't  drink  or  buy  anything. 
Others  offer  tobacco  free  with  drinks,  and  others 
picture  postcards,  and  there  are  always  free 
lunches." 

"  And  aren't  any  of  the  boys  tempted  by  such 
offers?"  asked  Marjorie. 

"  Of  course  they  are  tempted,  but  the  knights 
are  fighting  their  own  battles  as  well  as  their 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  265 

'  crusade.'  Then,  you  see,  they  stand  together 
now  as  one  man,  and  the  stronger  ones  watch 
the  weaker,  and  keep  them  braced  up." 

"  Poor  little  chaps ! "  Mrs.  Knowles  said 
softly,  "  with  so  many  things  to  tempt  them,  and 
no  help  in  their  own  homes!  It's  'most  a  won- 
der that  they  do  hold  out,  I  think." 

"  They  not  only  have  no  help  at  home,  but 
many  of  them  have  their  fiercest  battles  there. 
That  Jim  now — Black  Jim  they  used  to  call  him 
— I  tell  you,  if  Bryan  had  done  nothing  else  but 
work  the  change  he  has  in  that  one  boy,  it  would 
be  a  splendid  year's  work.  His  father  is  the 
most  bitter  of  all  against  Bryan.  He  undertook 
to  flog  the  boy  for  coming  here,  but  Jim  is  a 
big,  brawny  chap,  you  know,  and  he  didn't  suc- 
ceed; he  succeeded,  however,  in  driving  Jim 
from  home,  and  now  he  won't  go  near  the  place. 
But  the  father  seems  to  have  some  kind  of  a  hold 
over  a  great  many  of  the  men,  especially  those 
who  work  on  the  wharves.  I  think  he's  the  boss 
of  a  big  gang  of  roustabouts,  or  something  of 
that  sort,  and  I  suppose  they  are  afraid  of  losing 
their  jobs  if  they  go  against  him." 

Marston  was  silent  for  a  moment,  then  he 
added,  "  I'm  afraid  that  there  is  trouble  a-brew- 
ing  for  Green  Tree  House,  and  to  tell  the  truth 
I'd  feel  easier  if  you  " — he  turned  to  tell  his 
cousin — "  would  take  Mother  Knowles  here  and 
Elizabeth  and  go  off  to  New  York  for  a  vaca- 
tion. The  change  would  do  you  all  a  world  of 
good." 


266  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  So  you  want  us  to  desert  ?  "  Mrs.  Knowles' 
eyes  were  full  of  quiet  amusement  as  she  asked 
the  question. 

"  It  wouldn't  be  deserting.  You  can't  help 
much  in  this  crisis  by  staying,  and  you  can  help 
by  going.  It  would  relieve  Bryan  and  me  of 
a  deal  of  anxiety." 

Mrs.  Knowles  considered  that  for  a  moment; 
then  she  said,  "  I  see,  and  I  agree  with  you,  that 
it  is  best  for  Marjorie  to  go,  and  she  might  take 
Elizabeth,  if  she  likes.  I  shall  stay  here.  There 
is  no  reason  for  you  to  worry  about  me,  and  I 
might  be  able  to  do  some  good." 

"  And  I  shall  stay,  Teddy,"  added  Marjorie. 

"  But  why  ?  "  he  argued.  "  There's  no  reason 
in  the  world  why  you  should  stay,  Marjorie, 
even  if  Mother  Knowles  does.  I  can  under- 
stand her  attitude,  but  you  are  just  here  for — 
well,  I  don't  quite  know  what  for — but  anyhow, 
there's  nothing  that  need  keep  you  here,  and 
you  know  well  enough  that  if  father  were  home, 
he'd  make  you  go  back  there." 

"  But  as  it  happens,  he  isn't."  There  was  a 
mutinous  flash  in  Marjorie's  dark  eyes.  "  And 
when  I've  never  before  had  a  chance  to  live  in 
the  very  midst  of  a  '  crusade,'  do  you  think  I'm 
going  to  miss  it  now?  Indeed,  I'm  not.  I'm 
going  to  stay  and  help  too." 

"  But  that's  just  it — by  staying  you  will  hin- 
der and  not  help,"  Marston  urged.  "  Theodore 
is  awfully  anxious  about  you — I  could  see  it  from 
the  way  he  urged  your  going  away.  If  we  have 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  267 

you  to  think  about,  it  will  be  just  so  much  un- 
necessary worry." 

"  I  thought  he  didn't  worry,"  the  girl  flung 
back,  but  for  some  reason  her  eyes  were  shining 
happily. 

"  Well,  in  a  way  he  doesn't — that  is,  he  never 
worries  about  anything  that  concerns  only 
himself,  but  I  know  he  is  worried  about 
you." 

"Oh,  well,  I'll  think  it  over,"  was  all  that 
Marjorie  would  concede,  and  Teddy  had  to  let 
it  go  at  that. 

But  the  next  evening  he  brought  further  news. 
Several  saloons,  they  had  learned,  were  running 
at  a  loss,  and  the  feeling  against  Bryan  was  grow- 
ing more  bitter.  The  boys  reported  threats  of 
dreadful  things  to  happen  to  him  and  his  work- 
shops, if  he  did  not  put  a  stop  to  this  move- 
ment for  cleaning  up  Sabin  Street.  The  street 
was  good  enough  as  it  was — nobody  that  wasn't 
a  fool  or  a  meddler  wanted  it  changed.  If  Bryan 
was  not  satisfied  with  the  neighbourhood,  let 
him  clear  out  of  it,  and  a  good  riddance  it 
would  be. 

"  That's  the  kind  of  talk  the  boys  report  from 
all  the  saloons,"  Marston  said,  "  but  there's 
something  better  to  tell.  You  know  we've  given 
up  the  fire  room,  Saturday  evenings,  to  the  men 
lately.  Bryan  told  them  that  they  could  come 
there,  and  read  the  papers,  and  smoke,  or  talk, 
or  use  the  room  in  any  way  they  liked.  So 
they've  been  coming,  sometimes  only  two  or 


268  THEODORE  BRYAN 

three,  sometimes  a  dozen  or  more.  Most  of 
them  are  fathers  of  Bryan's  boys,  or  of  your 
girls,  Mother  Knowles.  Well,  Bryan  hasn't  said 
a  word  to  them  about  the  crusade  until  last 
night,  when  one  of  them  asked  him  about  it, 
and  then  he  told  them  straight  out  what  he 
meant  to  do,  and  do  you  know,  they  stayed  and 
talked  it  over  for  an  hour  or  more,  and  finally, 
six  of  the  men  offered  to  help;  and  they  ac- 
tually went  off  with  the  little  white  flags  pinned 
to  their  coats." 

"  I  guess  Theodore  was  pleased  over  that," 
Mrs.  Knowles  commented. 

"  He  was,  indeed,"  Marston  answered.  "  It 
will  be  a  big  help  and  encouragement  to  the  boys. 
He  had  a  message  to-day  from  Boss  Brady — a 
threat  that  if  he  didn't  mind  his  own  business 
and  let  the  saloons  alone,  he'd  soon  wish  he 
had." 

"  Ah,  I've  been  expecting  that,"  Mrs.  Knowles 
replied  gravely.  "  He  hasn't  seen  Brady  yet, 
has  he?" 

"  No,  he's  tried  to  several  times,  but  hasn't 
yet  found  him.  I  fancy  that  Brady  doesn't  want 
to  be  found — he'd  rather  give  his  warnings  by 
proxy.  But  Bryan  will  catch  him  yet.  He 
doesn't  know  how  to  give  up." 

And  a  few  days  later  Bryan  did  find  Boss 
Brady — found  him  by  going  to  his  office  at 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  waiting 
till  he  came.  Brady  was  a  big,  broad-shouldered 
Irishman,  with  bushy,  red  hair,  twinkling 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  269 

blue  eyes,  and  a  jolly  laugh  that  sounded  as 
if  he  cared  for  nothing  in  the  world  but  a  good 
story.  He  had  been  a  saloon-keeper  himself 
once;  now  his  saloons  were  kept  by  others. 
Brady  was  one  of  the  most  influential  men  in  the 
City  Council.  He  was  not  accounted  a  wealthy 
man,  yet  he  could  always  command  money  for 
anything  that  he  wanted  to  do,  and  the  men  of 
his  ward,  most  of  them,  were  his,  body  and 
soul.  Why  shouldn't  they  be,  when  the  Boss  was 
the  best  friend  they  had — always  able  and  ready 
to  help  them  out  of  trouble,  to  find  them  a  job, 
or  to  advance  money  for  the  extra  expenses  of 
sickness  and  funerals,  or  even  weddings  and 
christenings  ?  He  knew  all  the  women  and  chil- 
dren as  well  as  the  men,  never  forgetting  a  face 
or  a  name,  and  his  baggy  pockets  were  generally 
supplied  with  candy  and  peanuts  for  the  little 
ones. 

As  Bryan  looked  into  the  broad,  fresh-coloured 
face,  with  its  twinkling  blue  eyes,  he  remembered 
all  these  things,  and  he  did  not  wonder  that  the 
ward  gave,  year  after  year,  a  solid  vote  for 
Brady,  or  Brady's  men. 

But  the  genial  light  in  Brady's  eyes  changed 
suddenly  to  a  steel-like  glitter  when  he  learned 
who  the  caller  was  that  he  found  waiting  so 
composedly  outside  his  office  door,  for  Bryan  had 
preferred  to  wait  there  rather  than  inside.  For 
barely  a  second  Brady  hesitated,  then  he  flung 
open  the  door  with  a  curt  "  Go  in,  then,"  and 
Bryan  went  in. 


270  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Now,  what  is  it  ye  want  ?  "  Brady  demanded, 
in  a  truculent  tone,  flinging  himself  into  a  chair, 
and  leaving  Bryan  to  stand  or  sit.  He  chose  to 
sit,  and  quietly  drew  forward  a  chair  while,  from 
under  scowling  brows,  the  other  man's  narrowed 
eyes  studied  his  face. 

"  I  want  you  to  help  me  clean  up  Sabin  Street, 
Mr.  Brady." 

As  Bryan  said  that,  Brady's  glance  flickered 
angrily,  and  his  scowl  deepened ;  then  he  grinned, 
but  it  was  a  grin  that  suggested  a  snarl — no 
genial  smile,  this. 

"  Ye  do,  do  ye  ?  An'  d'ye  git  everything  ye 
want,  young  feller  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I've  never  wanted  but  one  thing  that  I  did 
not  get  sooner  or  later." 

"  H'm !  An'  what  was  that  ?  "  Brady  enquired, 
stirred  by  sudden  curiosity.  His  curiosity  deep- 
ened as  he  saw  the  change  that  passed  swiftly 
over  the  young  man's  face.  There  was  some- 
thing in  that  look — something  at  once  sorrowful, 
tender,  strong,  and  sweet — that  he  had  never  seen 
in  any  other  face  and,  in  his  fashion,  Brady  was 
a  keen  reader  of  faces.  But  in  a  moment  the 
look  was  gone,  as  Bryan  answered  slowly, 
"You'd  be  interested,  I  think,  if  I  should  tell 
you.  Perhaps  I  will,  some  time,  but  not  now. 
Not  until  we  know  each  other  better,  you  and  I, 
Mr.  Brady." 

"  Huh !  "  Brady  grunted.  "  I  guess  I  know  all 
I  want  to  about  you,  young  man.  An'  as  to 
Sabin  Street,  it's  good  enough  as  'tis.  There  ain't 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  271 

goin'  to  be  any  cleanin'  up  there.  You  hear 
me?"  He  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair,  his 
eyes  now  hard  and  threatening,  his  lips  set  in  a 
straight  line  under  his  bristling  red  moustache. 

"  But  that  is  where,  for  once,  you  are  mistaken, 
Mr.  Brady."  Bryan's  voice  was  even  and  steady 
— almost  gentle  indeed ;  but  Brady's  experienced 
ear  detected  the  ring  of  determination  under  the 
gentleness.  His  wrath  flamed  out  suddenly,  and 
he  leaned  forward,  shaking  a  thick  forefinger  in 
Bryan's  face  as  he  said : 

"  You  listen  to  me.  I  own  the  ninth  ward — do 
you  understand? — I  own  it.  There's  goin'  to  be 
no  clean  up  there  unless  I  say  so,  an'  I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  say  so.  That's  settled,  an'  we  needn't 
either  of  us  waste  any  more  breath  arguin'  about 
it." 

"  Mr.  Brady,"  returned  Bryan,  "  I've  never 
met  you  before,  but  I've  wanted  to  for  a  long 
time,  and  for  several  reasons.  One  is,  because  I 
felt  sure  that  you  were  a  man  of  very  unusual 
power  and  insight,  else  you  could  never  have 
gained  the  influence  you  have  in  the  ward " 

"  Aw — cut  it  out !  Blarney  won't  work  with 
me,"  interrupted  the  Boss. 

The  smile  that  flashed  over  Bryan's  face  so 
transfigured  it  that  for  a  moment  Brady  stared 
at  him  in  sheer  surprise.  There  was  something 
in  that  smile  that  took  the  fight  out  of  him  in  the 
queerest  fashion !  Bryan  went  on  quietly,  "  No, 
it  isn't  blarney — I  should  know  better  than  to  try 
that  with  you.  I  was  only  trying  to  make  you 


272  THEODORE  BRYAN 

understand  why  I  have  wanted  to  be  friends  with 
you." 

Brady's  jaw  dropped.  He  looked  first  be- 
wildered, then  angry. 

"  Friends  wid  me ! "  he  shouted,  falling  back 
into  old  habits  of  speech  in  his  excitement. 
"  Well,  I  guess  it'll  be  after  this  when  you  an' 
me's  chums,  unless  " — his  keen  shrewd  glance 
searched  the  other's  face  doubtfully  as  he  added 
in  a  half-whisper — "  unless  ye've  come  to  sell  out 
to  me.  Is  dat  de  trick  ?  If  'tis,  I  reckon  we  c'n 
come  to  terms,  an'  mebbe  I  c'n  put  you  on  to  a 
job  a  sight  better 'n  that  little  two-cent  business 
you're  runnin'  down  there  on  Sabin  Street." 

"  No,"  Bryan  answered,  in  the  same  even  tone, 
"  no,  I  don't  sell  out  my  friends  any  more  than  you 
do  yours,  Mr.  Brady.  Sabin  Street  cleaned  up — 
made  over — as  it  is  going  to  be — would  be  worth 
twice  as  much,  even  to  you,  as  it  is  now ;  because, 
you  don't  need  to  be  told  that  sober,  honest, 
prosperous  working  men  are  worth  more  than 
men  that  drink  away  their  brains  and  money,  and 
so  lose  their  jobs  and  have  to  be  supported  by 
somebody  else — or  by  the  city.  They  can't  vote 
for  you  when  they  have  drunk  themselves  into 
their  graves  or  into  the  almshouse.  Mr.  Brady," 
— he  looked  straight  into  the  angry  eyes,  speaking 
slowly  and  impressively — "  no  man  on  earth  can 
hinder  the  work  that  has  begun  down  there  on 
Sabin  Street,  but  you  can  help  it  immensely,  and 
double  your  own  power  there  if  you  will  now 
throw  all  your  influence  on  our  side.  Will  you  ?  " 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  273 

Brady  fairly  gasped  with  the  shock  of  surprise ; 
then  he  flushed  a  dark  red,  as  he  choked  and 
spluttered  in  his  furious  anger. 

"  Help !  Me  help  in  such  fool  work  as  that  ?  " 
he  shouted,  with  a  bitter  oath.  "  When  I  do, 
you'll  be  a  good  bit  less  of  a  fool  than  you  are 
now.  If  that's  all  ye've  come  here  for,  the 
sooner  ye  git  out  o'  this  the  better." 

"  It  is  not  quite  all,"  replied  Bryan,  wholly  un- 
moved by  the  epithets  which  the  other  flung  at 
him.  "  Mr.  Brady,  there  is  a  Power  at  work 
down  there  on  Sabin  Street — a  Power  that  no 
mortal  man  can  defeat.  Don't  think  for  a 
moment  it  is  I  that  you  are  opposing.  If  you 
force  me  out,  if  you  kill  me,  it  will  make  no  dif- 
ference— the  work  will  go  on  just  the  same,  for 
the  time  has  come  for  Sabin  Street  and  all  that 
neighbourhood  to  be  made  clean.  It  is  a  chance 
that,  I  think,  will  never  again  be  offered  you — 
the  chance  to  establish  your  power  and  influence 
on  a  foundation  that  will  not  be  shaken  by  any 
political  changes.  If  you — Boss  Brady — will 
come  to  the  front  in  this  movement,  do  you  know 
what  it  will  mean?  It  will  mean  that  men  of 
high  position  and  influence  in  this  city  will  be  on 
your  side,  working  with  you  for  civic  betterment 
— for  the  sake  of  the  general  good.  It  will  mean 
that  those  boys  of  mine — boys  who,  in  a  few 
years,  remember,  will  be  voters — it  will  mean 
that  those  boys  will  accept  your  leadership  as 
their  fathers  have  accepted  it. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  continue  to  fight 


274  THEODORE  BRYAN 

against  this  movement,  so  surely  as  I  am  speak- 
ing to  you  at  this  moment,  you  will  lose  the 
allegiance — and  the  votes — of  very  many  of  the 
men,  and  of  all  the  boys  who  will  be  the  men  of 
to-morrow." 

"You  go  chase  yerself  fer  a  goat!"  Brady 
sneered.  "  If  you  live  till  them  '  men  of  ter- 
morrer '  git  to  the  ballot-box,  you'll  find  that 
their  votes  will  go  fer  me  in  spite  of  all  you  can 
do  or  say  to  prevent  it.  You!"  He  pulled  his 
huge  bulk  up  out  of  his  chair  and  pointed  to  the 
door.  "  Now,  git  out !  I've  wasted  all  the  time 
I'm  a-goin'  to  waste  on  you;  but  remember — I 
give  ye  fair  warnin'.  It'll  be  a  fight  to  a  finish, 
an'  you'll  have  nobody  but  yerself  to  blame  fer 
what  happens  to  you" 

He  whirled  about,  turning  his  back  on  his 
visitor,  and  without  another  word  Bryan  left  the 
room.  But  after  he  was  gone,  Brady  sat  for  a 
long  time  staring  grimly  out  of  the  window.  At 
last,  with  an  impatient  frown,  he  turned  to  his 
mail,  muttering  to  himself  as  he  did  so : 

" '  Power,'  he  said,  the  young  fool.  I  guess 
he'll  find  out  that  the'  ain't  no  power  in  heaven  or 
earth  that  can  stand  against  Dennis  Brady  in  the 
ninth  ward."  But  in  spite  of  his  defiance,  he 
could  not  quite  shake  off  the  impression  of  those 
solemnly  spoken  words  of  Theodore  Bryan. 
Again  and  again  that  day  they  came  back  to  his 
memory,  but  the  only  effect  was  to  make  him 
more  doggedly  determined  than  ever  to  fight  to 
the  bitter  end  against  reform  in  "  his  ward." 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  275 

Meantime,  Bryan  was  on  his  way  to  the  office 
of  Mr.  Harris.  That  gentleman,  having  recently 
given  up  the  active  supervision  of  his  business  to 
his  younger  partners,  had  now  leisure  to  give  to 
outside  interests.  He  had  been  more  than  once 
to  Green  Tree  House,  and  was  quite  at  home  in 
the  workshop  and  the  club,  and  his  interest  in  the 
young  man,  and  appreciation  of  his  character  and 
his  work,  had  made  rapid  growth. 

He  had  known  little,  however,  of  the  crusade 
that  the  boys  had  lately  undertaken,  but  he  was 
a  deeply  interested  listener  as  Bryan  told  him 
about  it,  and  about  his  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
enlist  Boss  Brady  on  the  side  of  reform. 

"  But  surely,  Bryan,  you  didn't  really  expect  to 
win  him  over — Boss  Brady,  of  all  men ! "  he 
remonstrated. 

"  No,  not  really,  but  I  could  see  what  an  im- 
petus it  would  give  to  the  movement  if  I  could 
win  him,  and  I  didn't  know — I  mean  " — he  spoke 
more  slowly,  as  he  always  did  when  referring  to 
the  Unseen  Power — "  I  did  know  that,  if  it  was 
necessary  for  him  to  be  won  over,  it  could  be 
done." 

"  M-m — well — evidently  it  wasn't  necessary 
then.  But,  Bryan,  this  is  a  pretty  large  contract 
that  you  have  undertaken — the  cleaning  up  of  the 
old  ninth  ward.  I'm  not  sure  it  is  wise,  even  for 
you,  to  undertake  so  big  a  thing." 

"  Ah,  but  I  am  not  undertaking  it,  you  see," 
replied  Bryan  quickly.  "  I  am  just  following  the 
leadings  that  come  day  by  day."  His  face 


276  THEODORE  BRYAN 

kindled  into  eagerness.  "  Mr.  Harris,  I  wish  you 
would  come  down  next  Tuesday  evening  and  see 
for  yourself.  You  can  sit  in  Marston's  room — 
the  boys  won't  know  you  are  there,  though  they 
wouldn't  care,  I  think,  if  they  did.  But  I  want 
you  to  see  how  the  idea  of  '  cleaning  up  Sabin 
Street '  has  literally  taken  possession  of  them. 
I  never  saw  anything  like  it,  and  that  is  what 
makes  me  so  sure  that  they  will  succeed." 

"  It  would  mean  a  great  deal  to  the  city  if  they 
should,"  Mr.  Harris  said  thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,  and  think  what  it  will  mean  to  the  boys 
themselves — and  to  their  mothers  and  sisters! 
Why,  Mr.  Harris,  if  they  do  it,  and  if  we  can 
get  one  of  those  recreation  grounds  down  there, 
in  place  of  the  vile  dens  they  are  trying  to  drive 
out,  you  can't  begin  to  realise  what  a  difference 
it  will  make  to  that  whole  neighbourhood." 

Mr.  Harris  nodded.  "  It  would  make  a  tre- 
mendous difference,  I'm  sure  of  that,"  he  agreed, 
"  and  every  such  neighbourhood  so  made  over, 
means  an  enormous  gain  for  the  city  as  a  Whole. 
You  know  [he  named  three  men],  don't  you? 
They  are  doing  a  great  deal  in  civic  reform  just 
now." 

"  I  know  two  of  them.  Griswold  I  have  never 
met." 

"  Well,  you  must  meet  him.  He's  a  fine  man 
— broad-minded,  public-spirited,  and  all  that — 
and  he  has  money,  which  he  spends  freely.  I'll 
give  you  a  line  to  him.  He's  an  old  classmate  of 
mine." 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  277 

He  turned  at  once  to  his  desk  and  wrote 
rapidly ;  then  handed  Bryan  three  notes. 

"  There — if  you  will  insist  upon  fighting  giants, 
I  suppose  I  must  help  you  all  I  can,  being  such  a 
useless  old  chump  myself,"  he  said,  with  a  smile. 
"  Look  up  all  those  men.  If  they  can't  help 
you  themselves,  it  will  do  no  harm  for  you  to 
talk  over  your  plans  with  them — they  may  have 
some  helpful  suggestions  to  offer.  And  I'll  be 
down  there  Tuesday  night  to  take  a  look — or  a 
listen  rather — at  your  '  knights,'  "  he  added. 

His  heart  warmed  by  the  kindly  interest  of 
this  old  friend,  Bryan  went  next  to  Cambridge  to 
see  the  dean,  whose  friendship  for  him  had  not 
lessened.  The  dean  welcomed  him  warmly,  and 
he,  too,  listened  with  interest  to  the  story  of  the 
Sabin  Street  crusade. 

"  Fine,  fine !  "  he  declared.  "  You  are  at  your 
old  work  of  making  boys  into  good  citizens  and 
good  men,  Bryan.  And  if  you  can  make  over 
that  old  ninth  ward,  it  will  be  a  civic  service  of 
the  best.  But,  my  boy,  you  need  to  be  very  care- 
ful. Brady  isn't  going  to  let  you  take  possession 
of  his  bailiwick  without  a  desperate  fight,  and 
the  liquor  interests  will  back  him  up.  That 
means  that  money  will  be  spent  freely  in  all  sorts 
of  crooked  ways,  you  know,  and — you  are  run- 
ning risks  yourself,  pretty  dangerous  ones.  You 
realise  that  ?  " 

"  That  part  of  it  is  not  worth  a  thought.  I 
cannot  be  hurt  till  my  work  is  done — you  believe 
that,  professor — and  when  it  is  done,  what  mat- 


278  THEODORE  BRYAN 

ter  ?  As  to  the  rest,  you  are  right,  of  course,  and 
I  haven't  any  more  idea  than  you  have,  how  we 
are  to  win  against  such,  apparently,  tremendous 
odds ;  only,  I  know  that  we  shall  win  in  the  end. 
It  may  be  a  long  fight,  though,  as  it  is  certain  to 
be  a  bitter  one." 

"Yes,  yes,"  the  dean  agreed  thoughtfully. 
"  You  say  that  Mr.  Harris  gave  you  letters  to 
men  that  he  thought  would  help  you.  Do  you 
mind  letting  me  see  the  names  ?  " 

"  Surely  not,"  and  Bryan  handed  him  the 
notes.  He  read  the  names  on  the  envelopes,  and 
nodded  approval. 

"  I  don't  know  any  better  men  than  those,  but 
I  want  to  give  you  several  other  names,"  he  said, 
mentioning  some  prominent  clergymen  of  the 
city,  and  a  couple  of  the  professors.  "  You  can't 
have  too  many  good  friends  in  a  struggle  like  this 
— they'll  all  be  needed.  I'll  see  one  or  two  of 
them,  and  write  to  the  others  to-night,  and  in  a 
day  or  two  you  can  look  them  up.  And  there's 
Perry — he's  a  newspaper  man,  you  know,  and 
if  you  could  get  him  interested,  he  would 
tell  the  story  in  his  paper  in  a  fashion  that 
would  win  you  a  host  of  friends  and  helpers. 
Yes,  you  must  get  Perry  interested,  by  all 
means." 

"  Get  him  to  go  down  to  our  place  and  see  the 
boys  themselves,  and  hear  them  tell  their  own 
story.  That  will  interest  him  more  than  any- 
thing I  could  say,"  Bryan  answered,  "  that,  and  a 
glimpse  of  Sabin  Street  with  its  saloons  and 


BRADY  AND  OTHERS  279 

other  dens  wide  open  for  business.  Maybe  he 
isn't  acquainted  with  Sabin  Street." 

The  dean  nodded  again.  "  I'll  get  him  down 
there — at  least  I'm  pretty  sure  I  can.  I've  had  it 
in  mind  to  bring  you  two  together  for  some  time. 
Perry,  too,  is  a  young  man,  but  he's  a  fellow  that 
is  going  to  be  heard  from,  if  I'm  a  judge  of  men." 

Bryan  went  back  to  Sabin  Street  at  nightfall, 
tired,  indeed,  but  vastly  heartened  by  the  interest 
in  his  boys,  and  their  great  undertaking,  which 
had  been  shown  by  most  of  the  men  he  had  seen. 
As  he  turned  into  Sabin  Street,  Tom  Brown 
overtook  him,  breathless  and  eager. 

"  Say,  brother,"  he  began,  "  you  better  look 
out  for  Joe  Veery.  He's  layin'  for  you — him 
and  Billy  Hodges." 

"Joe  Veery?  What's  his  grievance?"  Bryan 
enquired.  "  He  doesn't  keep  a  saloon,  does  he  ?"" 

"  No,  it's  because  of  Maggie  Presley.  She's 
gone  back  on  him,  and  he's  blamin'  it  all  on  you." 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?  "  replied  Bryan.  "  Well, 
I  had  nothing  to  do  with  Maggie's  change  of 
mind,  but  that's  all  right.  As  to  poor  Billy 
Hodges,  I  suppose  somebody  has  promised  him  a 
drink  if  he  can  hit  me  over  the  head  with  a  club 
some  dark  night.  Billy  isn't  to  blame,  poor 
chap ;  but  I'll  look  out  for  him,  and  thank  you 
for  the  warning,  Tom." 

"No,"  assented  Tom,  "Billy  ain't  to  blame 
for  what  he  does.  He's  only  half-witted  even 
when  he's  sober,  but  don't  you  forget,  big 
brother,  that  he  can  heave  a  rock  as  hard  and  as 


280  THEODORE  BRYAN 

straight  as  the  best  of  'em.  You'd  best  look 
sharp  when  you  pass  a  dark  corner." 

Bryan's  smile  in  answer  to  that  was  quite  un- 
concerned, but  it  sent  the  boy  away  with  a  warm 
glow  at  his  heart. 

Bryan  meant  to  be  careful,  but,  being  quite 
fearless,  he  often  forgot  to  "  look  sharp  "  when 
he  passed  a  dark  corner;  and  so,  a  few  nights 
later,  as  he  was  going  by  such  a  place  on  his  way 
home,  a  cobble-stone  struck  him  a  glancing  blow 
on  the  shoulder.  As  he  turned  swiftly,  he  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  tall,  shambling  figure  vanishing 
into  the  deeper  shadows  of  a  nearby  alley. 

"  Tom  was  not  mistaken — that  was  Billy 
Hodges,  sure  enough,"  Bryan  said  to  himself. 
"  A  bit  higher  and  it  might  have  done  some 
damage,  but — it  didn't  go  a  bit  higher,"  and  he 
went  on  his  way,  brushing  the  incident  from  his 
thoughts  as  unconcernedly  as,  a  little  later,  he 
brushed  the  street  dirt  from  his  coat,  where  the 
stone  had  soiled  it.  More  than  once  after  that, 
half-witted  Billy  Hodges  laid  in  wait  in  the  night 
shadows  when  Bryan  passed  by,  but  each  time 
there  were  two  or  three  boys  not  far  behind  him. 
Billy  dared  not  strike,  for  he  knew  that  the  boys 
were  watching  him  closely,  and  so  Bryan  went 
on  his  way  uninjured,  and  quite  unaware  of  his 
danger. 


XVI 

BRYAN'S  KNIGHTS 

ON  an  evening  in  early  summer,  Bryan  was 
sitting  in  the  fire  room  with  Teddy 
Marston.  It  was  too  warm  for  a  fire, 
but  the  room,  with  its  plain  comfortable  furnish- 
ings, was  ever  a  pleasant  place,  and  Marston 
often  lingered  there  for  a  talk  with  his  friend 
after  the  evening  work  at  the  shop  was  ended. 
The  two  were  discussing  the  latest  developments 
in  the  crusade,  when  suddenly  there  came  an 
energetic  pounding  on  the  door  that  opened 
into  the  yard. 

"  How  did  anybody  get  in  there  ? "  Bryan  said, 
hurrying  to  the  door.  As  he  opened  it,  three 
barefooted  boys  tumbled  in  upon  him,  and  broke 
into  an  excited  tangle  of  talk. 

"  Look  here,  boys,  suppose  you  try  to  quiet 
down  a  bit  and  tell  us  what's  the  matter.  Kelly, 
you  tell,  and  you  other  two  wait  till  he  gets 
through,"  Bryan  said.  "  Now,  Kelly  ?  " 

And  Kelly,  a  lean  freckle-faced  boy  of  thirteen 

took  up  the  tale.     "  He  undertook  to  strap  me 

to-night,  me  father  did,  but  he  didn't  make  much 

at  that — I'm  most  as  big  as  he  is.     'Twas  for 

281 


282  THEODORE  BRYAN 

comin'  here,  he  tried  it — 'n'  then  he  said  if  I 
didn't  keep  away  from  here,  an'  from  you,  he'd 
put  me  in  the  Boys'  Pen."  "  Boys'  Pen  "  being 
short  for  the  Reform  School. 

"  An*  my  ol'  man  he  said  the  same,"  put  in  the 
second  boy.  "  It's  Sullivan  put  him  up  to  it,  I 
know,  'cause  of  our  crusade,  and " 

"You  hush  up,  Tim — brother  said  fer  me  to 
tell  first."  Kelly  elbowed  the  second  boy  to  the 
rear,  and  hurried  on  to  forestall  further  interrup- 
tions. "  But,  you  bet,  the  ol'  man  ain't  goin'  to 
shut  me  out  of  this  place,  nor  out  o'  the  crusade 
neither — nor  yet  Tim's  dad  can't  do  it  wid  him. 
I  got  away  an'  found  Tim,  an'  we  jest  scooted 
over  to  Myers'  place  " — he  nodded  towards  the 
third  boy — "  Nick  lives  up  on  the  top  floor,  ye 
know,  an'  we  knew  my  ol'  man  was  watchin'  to 
see  if  we  come  over  here,  so  we  pulled  off  our 
shoes,  an'  lit  out  through  the  scuttle,  an'  crep' 
soft-foot  over  the  roofs,  an'  slid  down  the  water- 
spout here  into  your  yard.  Gee!  But  'twas 
great  sport,  us  skinnin'  over  them  roofs,  humped 
over  like  we  was  Tom  cats,  so  the  ol'  man 
wouldn't  see  us,  an'  him  a-sittin'  in  the  moon- 
light at  our  winder  watchin'  to  see  us  come 
out  of  Nick's  door.  I  bet  he's  there  yet  a- 
watchin'." 

Kelly  showed  every  tooth  in  his  wide  mouth  in 
a  delighted  grin,  and  his  two  companions  nudged 
each  other  and  chuckled.  But  the  grin  faded 
from  Kelly's  face  as  he  perceived  that  Bryan  was 
looking  at  him  with  grave  thought  fulness. 


BRYAN'S  KNIGHTS  283 

"  Say,"  he  broke  out  eagerly  and  earnestly,  "  you 
don't  think  I'd  back  out,  do  ye?  No,  sir-e-e — 
not  fer  my  ol'  man  ner  a  dozen  like  him. 
I'm  pledged,  I  am ! "  and  his  head  went  up 
proudly. 

"  Yes,  Kelly,  you  are  pledged,  and  I'm  very 
sure  that  you  would — that  you  will,  keep  your 
pledge.  But,  my  lad  " — Bryan's  hand  fell  on  the 
boy's  shoulder — "  you  want  to  do  the  right  thing 
now,  don't  you — to  be  '  square,'  as  you  say,  in 
every  way  ?  " 

"  Uh-huh,"  Kelly  assented,  but  doubtfully,  for 
anxiety  was  growing  in  his  eyes,  and  the  other 
boys  pushed  forward,  their  eyes  too  anxious  and 
uncertain. 

Bryan  went  on,  "  You  know  well  that  I  want 
every  one  of  you  boys  in  this  crusade — I  can't 
willingly  spare  one  of  you.  But  just  because  our 
crusade  is  a  battle  for  the  right,  I  can't  let  you 
do  anything,  even  for  that,  which  is  not  right; 
and,  Kelly,  it  isn't  right  for  you  to  come  here 
when  your  father  has  forbidden  it.  You  owe 
him  obedience." 

On  Kelly's  freckled  face  intense  disgust  was 
growing.  "Owe  him?"  he  muttered  incredu- 
lously. "  I  don't  owe  him  nothin' — that  ol'  man 
o'  mine.  I  earns  me  own  bread  an'  butter,  an'  I 
helps  wid  the  rent,  too.  He  spends  his  wages 
down  to  Sullivan's  an'  the  other  s'loons — I  don't 
owe  him  nothin'!"  he  repeated,  yet  with  an  evi- 
dent anxiety  in  his  voice.  "  An'  if  you  shut  me 
out  o'  the  crusade,  just  'cause  of  what  he  says, 


284  THEODORE  BRYAN 

I'll "  He  shook  his  head  threateningly  and 

was  silent,  turning  his  face  suddenly  away  from 
Bryan,  and  kicking  at  a  crack  in  the  floor  with 
his  bare  foot. 

"  Look  here,  Kelly  " — Bryan's  hand  was  still 
on  the  boy's  shoulder — "  you  can't  think  I  want  to 
shut  out  one  of  my  boys !  You  don't  know  what 
you  boys  are  to  me  if  you  can  believe  that  for  a 
single  moment.  And  you  are  not  going  to  be 
shut  out,  only  " — with  a  sudden  inspiration — "  I 
think  you  are  going  to  be  promoted — put  on  the 
honour  list — all  of  you  three." 

"  Wat  ye  mean,  brother  ?  "  Jack  voiced  the 
question  that  the  eyes  of  the  other  two  were 
dumbly  asking. 

"  I've  told  you  about  the  medals  of  honour 
given  for  special  acts  of  bravery — you  remem- 
ber ?  "  The  three  heads  nodded  as  one.  "  Well, 
I'm  going  to  assign  you  three  to  the  hardest  duty 
of  this  crusade."  Kelly's  head  was  up  again  at 
that,  his  eyes  glowing;  but  the  glow  faded  as 
Bryan  went  on,  "  The  hardest  duty  of  a  soldier 
isn't  risking  his  life  in  some  fierce  battle,  don't 
you  know  that?  In  the  heat  and  excitement  of 
the  fight,  that  is  not  hard  to  a  brave  man.  The 
hard  thing  is  the  being  absolutely  faithful  to  the 
dull  everyday  duties  between  the  battles — doing 
those  dull,  tiresome  duties  faithfully  in  camp, 
when  his  comrades  are  winning  rank  and  hon- 
our in  battle — that's  the  hardest  thing  for  a 
soldier." 

The  three  boyish  faces  were  very  anxious  now, 


BRYAN'S  KNIGHTS  285 

and  a  shadow  of  bitter  disappointment  was  creep- 
ing over  every  one. 

"  Ye  mean  'at  we've  got  ter  be  out  of  it  all  ?  " 
Kelly  questioned,  a  heart-breaking  anxiety  in 
eyes  and  voice. 

"  I  hope  not,  Kelly ;  but  this  is  what  I  mean. 
I  have  no  right  to  allow  you,  or  any  other  boy, 
to  come  here  when  his  father  has  forbidden  it. 
But  though  your  fathers  may  make  you  stay  away 
from  here,  they  cannot  prevent  your  really  hav- 
ing a  share  in  the  '  crusade  '  and  helping  a  deal 
to  make  it  a  success,  even  though  you  do  not,  for 
a  while — I  hope  it  will  be  for  only  a  little  while 
—come  here  to  the  meetings.  You'll  belong  just 
the  same,  and  indeed,  more  than  ever;  for,  as  I 
said,  I  shall  put  you  on  the  honour  list  of  those 
who  are  doing  the  hardest  part  of  the  fighting, 
for  you  will  be  fighting  your  own  desires  and  in- 
clinations, and  standing  firm  against  temptation. 
If  your  fathers  are  not  willing  that  you  should 
wear  the  white  flag,  you  can  put  it  out  of  sight, 
but  in  your  hearts  you  will  be  wearing  it — in  your 
hearts  you  will  be  helping  us  in  the  crusade — 
perhaps  helping  even  more  than  if  you  came  here 
with  the  other  boys.  You  will  be  working  for 
the  crusade  whenever  you  speak  to  any  one  about 
it.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you  three  should  win 
for  the  cause  more  recruits  than  anybody  else  will 
win.  And  listen,  boys,  I  shall  have  a  white  flag 
hung  right  there  on  the  wall  across  the  stars  and 
stripes.  It  will  be  the  Honour  Roll  of  the  Cru- 
sade, and  your  three  names  shall  head  that  list, 


S86  THEODORE  BRYAN 

so  that  all  the  other  boys  will  know  that  you  are 
still  working  with  us — that  your  hearts  are  with 
us,  even  if  you  cannot  be." 

The  three  young  faces  were  brighter  now ;  but 
suddenly  Jack  snuffled: 

"  'N'  what'll  -we  do  the  nights  the  rest  of  'em  is 
here?"  he  demanded,  in  a  dismal  tone. 

"  That's  it— what?  "  Tim  Nolan  confirmed  him 
with  prompt  emphasis. 

"  You  three  can  have  a  meeting  of  your  own, 
perhaps,  or  you  may  be  drumming  up  recruits, 
or  talking  up  the  benefits  of  a  recreation  park 
here  on  Sabin  Street  to  people  not  yet  interested 
in  it.  You " 

"  Aw,  shucks !  I  want  ter  be  in  the  fight! "  the 
third  boy — Nick  Myers — burst  out  suddenly. 
"Talkin'!  What's  that!" 

"  Jest  talkin',"  echoed  Jack  Kelly  dismally,  his 
brows  drawn  together  in  a  scowl. 

"  An'  we  can't  work  no  more  in  the  shop 
neither,"  put  in  Tim  Nolan.  "  An'  I  was  goin' 
to  make  one  of  them  little  tables  for  my  sister.  I 
told  her  I  would." 

"  I'm  sorry,  Nolan,  but  I  think  your  father  will 
give  in  after  a  while.  I'm  pretty  sure  he  will'.  I 
wonder  now  if  you  fellows  wouldn't  like 
me  to  tell  you  a  bit  of  news.  I've  not  told 
it  to  any  of  the  boys  yet,  but  if  you  three 
are  to  head  the  Honour  List — you  are,  aren't 
you?" 

Silence,  while  the  clock  ticked  maybe  ten 
times;  then  Kelly  answered  for  himself: 


BRYAN'S  KNIGHTS  287 

"  It's  me  for  the  Honour  List  then,"  but  he 
ended  with  a  long  sigh. 

"  Good,  Kelly — your  name  shall  go  first,"  said 
Bryan.  "  And  you,  Nolan  ?  " 

"  I — guess  so,"  doubtfully. 

Bryan  shook  his  head.  "  '  Guess  so  '  won't  do 
in  this  crusade.  How  about  you,  Myers?  Do 
you  go  after  Kelly  ?  " 

Myers  flung  up  his  head,  his  eyes  snapping. 
"  I  do  that !  "  he  said  with  decision. 

Then  the  two  turned  and  looked  curiously  at 
Tim  Nolan.  He  glanced  from  them  to  Bryan, 
then  he  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Me  for  third,"  he 
declared  slowly. 

"  Sure,  Nolan  ?  You  know  you  are  per- 
fectly free — you  needn't  do  this  unless  you 
like.  I  don't  want  you  to,  unless  you  are 
fully  determined  to  stick  it  out,"  Bryan  told 
him. 

"  I'll  stick,"  was  the  brief  response  to  that, 
which  Kelly  hastened  to  supplement  with  the  as- 
surance, "  He'll  do  it  now,  brother.  He  don't 
go  back  on  his  word — don't  Tim  Nolan.  An' 
now,  w'at's  that  secret  ?  " 

"You'll  keep  it  a  secret  until  you  hear  of  it 
from  some  one  else  ?  " 

Again  the  three  close-cropped  heads  nodded 
as  one,  and  three  pairs  of  curious  eyes  watched 
Bryan's  face. 

"  Well,  then,  it  is  this.  Some  of  the  gentlemen 
who  are  interested  in  our  crusade  have  bought 
the  three-story  brick  house  across  the  way  here, 


288  THEODORE  BRYAN 

and  are  going  to  fit  it  up  at  once  for  a  "  Neigh- 
bourhood House  "  for  men.  That's  what  it  is  to 
be  called — Neighbourhood  House.  There  will 
be  a  reading-room,  with  newspapers  and  maga- 
zines, and  we  hope  a  small  branch  library,  a  bil- 
liard-room, and  a  room  for  other  games,  like 
checkers  and  chess,  and  a  lunch-room,  where 
good  hot  coffee  will  be  sold  every  evening  for  a 
penny  a  cup,  sandwiches  for  two  cents,  and 
where  a  man  can  get  something  to  drink  which 
will  not  harm  him — lemonade  or  soda  water, 
drinks  '  the  kind  a  man  can't  get  drunk  on.' 

"  You  see,"  Bryan  went  on,  "  we  know  that  in 
such  small  homes  as  most  of  those  in  this  neigh- 
bourhood— homes  generally  running  over  with 
little  children — a  man  can't  have  a  quiet,  comfort- 
able evening  or  Sunday.  That  is  what  drives 
many  of  them  to  the  saloons,  where  they  can  be 
comfortable,  and  can  smoke  and  talk  with  others. 
Now,  what  do  you  think,  boys — will  the  men  of 
this  neighbourhood — men  like  your  fathers,  for 
instance — go  to  a  place  like  that,  or  will  they 
still  prefer  the  saloons  ?  " 

"  You  goin'  to  let  'em  smoke,  ye  say  ? "  de- 
manded Kelly. 

"  Sure — just  as  much  as  they  like." 

"Any  preachin' — meetin's  an'  such?"  Nolan 
questioned,  with  a  wink  at  the  others. 

"  Not  a  meeting,  unless  they  themselves  ar- 
range or  ask  for  it.  There  will  be  a  room  where 
they  can  have  lectures  or  meetings,  if  they  want 
them,  or  where  they  can  have  debates — free 


BRYAN'S  KNIGHTS  289 

talks — like  what  some  of  them,  you  know,  have 
had  here  in  the  fire  room.  That's  all." 

"  I  say,  it'll  be  bully !  "  Nick  Myers  declared 
with  emphasis. 

"  But  do  you  think  the  men  will  see  it  in  that 
light?  Do  you,  Kelly?" 

Kelly  slowly  shook  his  head.  "  I  dunno," 
he  replied.  "  Reckon  they'll  kind  o'  hang  off, 
first  along,  'fraid  o'  bein'  roped  into  something 
pious,  don't  ye  see  ?  But  I  guess  mebbe  ye'd  get 
'em  after  a  while  if  the  s'loons  don't  hold  on  to 
'em  too  tight."  Then  reluctantly  he  added,  with 
a  glance  of  which  the  wistfulness  was  not  lost 
on  Bryan,  "  I  s'pose,  fellers,  we  got  'er  go 
now." 

Bryan  stood  for  a  moment  with  his  arms  flung 
over  the  shoulders  of  Kelly  and  Nolan,  while  his 
warm  smile  included  Myers,  as  he  said,  with  that 
note  in  his  earnest  voice  that  always  touched 
their  hearts : 

"  Little  brothers,  I  shall  miss  every  one  of  you, 
but  I  think  it  will  not  be  for  long,  and  I  shall 
know  that  you  are  true  and  loyal  knights  all  the 
while.  I  shall  never  doubt  you  for  one  moment. 
I  shall  see  that  you  are  told  about  everything  that 
we  do  here,  and  I  shall  do  my  best  to  win  your 
fathers  over,  so  that  they  may  let  you  come  back 
to  us.  So  it  is  just  good-night  and  not  good-by. 
If  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  go  back  across  the 
roofs,  or,  at  any  rate,  if  you  do,  I  wish  you  would 
tell  your  fathers  that  you  came  here,  but  that 
you  are  not  coming  any  more  until  they  are  will- 


290  THEODORE  BRYAN 

ing  that  you  should.  That  is  what  I'd  do.  Now, 
good-night." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  each  in  turn ;  then  the 
three  slim,  boyish  figures  filed  out  in  silence ;  only 
at  the  door  the  last  one,  Kelly,  paused  for  a 
moment  and  looked  back,  a  long  wistful  look,  be- 
fore he  followed  his  comrades. 

As  the  door — the  front  door,  not  the  back  one 
— closed  behind  them,  Marston  growled,  "  Poor 
little  kids — it's  hard  on  them." 

"  Yes,"  returned  Bryan,  "  but  it  is  the  kind  of 
hard  that  will  make  them  grow  if  only  they  take 
it  the  right  way." 

The  next  Tuesday  night  when  the  "  knights  " 
came  together  to  report  progress  and  take  counsel 
with  the  big  brother,  Julius  Perry  sat  with 
Marston  in  the  workroom  of  the  latter.  The 
room  was  unlighted  and  the  fire  room,  where  the 
boys  were  gathered,  was  lighted  only  by  the  fire 
that  flamed  in  the  old  fireplace.  A  penetrating 
northeast  wind,  driving  the  rain  against  the  win- 
dows, made  the  fire  a  thing  of  comfort,  and  the 
boys  coming  in  wet  and  shivering  (umbrellas 
were  rare  luxuries  on  Sabin  Street),  gathered 
eagerly  about  the  hearth  to  warm  their  hands 
and  dry  their  clothes.  By  twos  and  threes  they 
came,  till  the  room  was  full,  and  then,  some 
stretched  on  the  floor  before  the  hearth,  and  the 
rest  with  chairs  and  benches  drawn  as  close  as 
possible,  they  began  to  talk. 

The  two  young  men  in  the  front  room,  un- 
noticed in  the  shadows,  could  see  and  hear 


BRYAN'S  KNIGHTS  291 

clearly.  Perry  leaned  forward,  his  eyes  full  of 
keen  interest  in  the  picture,  as  the  firelight,  flash- 
ing and  flickering,  brought  into  vivid  relief 
Bryan's  plain,  strong  face,  serious,  but  never  sad, 
and  the  homely,  eager  faces  of  the  boys  gathered 
about  him.  Student  of  human  nature  as  he  was, 
Julius  Perry  recognised  these  boys  as  types  of 
the  poorer  classes  of  a  great  city.  There  was 
among  them  scarcely  one  face  that  did  not  show 
plainly  the  marks  of  their  sorrowful  birthright  of 
sin  and  poverty  with  all  that  the  union  of  these 
two  entails.  These  boys  had  been  young  hood- 
lums, members  of  "  gangs,"  in  training  for  saloon, 
and  reform  school,  and  penitentiary.  Had  been 
— but  even  Julius  Perry  could  see  that  they  were 
not  that  now;  that  out  of  this  rank  soil  of  sin 
and  poverty  something  strong,  and  fine,  and  fair, 
was  growing. 

Suddenly  he  leaned  over  and  whispered  in 
Marston's  ear,  "  Marston,  you  remember  that  the 
Quakers  claim  to  be  led  by  an  inner  light?  His 
face  there — Bryan's — reminds  me  of  that.  You 
can  imagine  it  is  that  kind  of  a  light  that  glows 
in  his  eyes  and,  by  Jove,  every  face  in  that  ragged 
crowd  seems  to  have  caught  the  reflection 
of  it." 

"If  you'd  tried  for  a  week  you  couldn't  have 
hit  it  off  better,"  Marston  answered  under  his 
breath.  "  I  believe  that's  the  literal  truth,  Perry. 
There's  something  in  that  fellow  that  we  others 
haven't  got.  That  is  why  those  boys  look  up  to 
him  as  they  do,  and  follow  without  question 


292  THEODORE  BRYAN 

where  he  leads — and  he'll  lead  them  far  and 
high." 

Perry  nodded.  "  But  listen,"  he  said,  and  not 
anothei  word  did  he  speak,  so  anxious  was  he  to 
lose  nothing  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  other 
room.  It  was  a  curious  discussion,  different 
from  anything  to  which  he  had  ever  before 
listened — curious  enough  to  hear  such  high  pur- 
poses and  plans  discussed  in  the  rough  and  ready 
vernacular  of  the  street  boy.  The  wonder  of  it 
stirred  Perry's  heart  and  set  his  pulses  dancing. 

"  The  chivalry  of  the  slums,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  then,  "  My  word,  but  they  deserve  a 
good  send-off,  and  if  they  don't  get  it,  my  name's 
not  Julius  Perry.  I'll  crack  the  ice  in  the  hearts 
of  some  of  the  old  fossils  in  this  town  to-morrow, 
or  my  pen  has  lost  its  cunning." 

But,  by  a  peculiar  chance,  it  happened  that, 
when  Perry  got  back  to  the  office  that  night,  he 
found  a  telegram  calling  him  to  the  West,  where 
his  father  lay  desperately  ill,  and  he  was  off  in 
the  first  train  he  could  catch.  He  wrote  his  story 
of  the  meeting,  however,  on  the  train,  as  he 
travelled — it  was  easier  so  to  pass  the  long 
anxious  hours  of  his  journey — and  mailed  it  to 
the  office  in  the  early  morning.  By  another 
strange  chance  that  manuscript,  though  directed 
in  Perry's  handwriting,  which  was  clear  and 
plain  as  print,  went  astray,  and  was  sidetracked 
for  a  week ;  and  in  that  week  events  marched  to 
a  climax  on  Sabin  Street. 


XVII 
THE  CLIMAX 

THERE  came  a  dark  night  with  low-lying 
clouds  and  a  high  wind,  but  no  rain. 
Sabin  Street,  as  usual,  was  brilliantly 
lighted  on  every  corner,  for  at  each  cross  street 
was  one — or  two — saloons. 

At  Green  Tree  House,  the  shops  had  closed  as 
usual  at  nine  o'clock,  and  an  hour  later  the  old 
house  and  the  one  next  to  it,  now  used  also  as  a 
shop,  were  dark  and  silent.  The  street  was  more 
quiet  than  usual  at  that  hour,  but  a  few  dark 
figures  were  abroad,  slouching  noiselessly  from 
house  to  house,  from  corner  to  corner;  and 
eager  and  vindictive  eyes  kept  watch  of  the 
old  house  at  Number  40  as  distant  church 
clocks  struck  the  hours — eleven,  twelve,  one. 
By  one  o'clock  all  the  saloons  were  dark, 
except  two,  where,  behind  red  glass,  lights 
burned  the  whole  night  through ;  and  but  for  the 
slow  soft-footed  prowlers  of  the  night,  and  those 
other  dark  figures  now  flitting  like  human  bats, 
from  point  to  point,  Sabin  Street  was  deserted. 

A  little  later,  every  sleeper  in  Green  Tree 
House  was  startled  into  wake  fulness  by  the  loud, 
incessant  ringing  of  the  doorbell.  Again  and 
293 


294  THEODORE  BRYAN 

again  it  was  jerked,  until  the  wire  broke,  and  the 
old-fashioned  glass  knob  came  off  in  the  im- 
patient hand  that  clutched  it,  as  the  bell  made 
one  last  discordant  jangling  peal,  and  then  fell 
silent.  But  now  the  impatient  hands  were  beat- 
ing and  pounding  on  the  door. 

"  Oh,  what  is  it  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  Mar- 
jorie  cried,  as  she  joined  Mrs.  Knowles,  who,  in 
the  darkness,  was  nervously  fumbling  for  the 
gas-pull. 

"  It  must  be  somebody  is  sick,  and  they've  sent 
for  Theodore  or  me,"  Mrs.  Knowles  returned,  as 
the  light  flashed  up.  "  There,  Theodore  is  going 
to  the  door  now.  Isn't  somebody  calling  fire  ?  " 
Pulling  her  wrapper  around  her,  she  opened  the 
door  into  the  hall  and  listened,  unconsciously 
sniffing  for  the  smell  of  burning  wood.  In  a 
moment  she  looked  back  and  called  to  the  girl, 
"  Yes,  there  is  a  fire,  Marjorie.  I  heard  some 
one  say  that  the  house  next  to  the  new  shop 
is  burning.  You'd  better  dress  as  quickly  as 
you  can,  and  wake  Elizabeth.  It  sounds  as  if  the 
street  were  full  of  people." 

"  I'm  'wake  now,"  piped  Elizabeth  from  her 
room.  "  I'm  most  dressed  a'ready." 

"  Where  is  the  fire,  Theodore  ?  "  Mrs.  Knowles 
questioned,  as  Bryan,  admitting  two  boys,  shut 
and  bolted  the  hall  door  after  them.  "  Did  they 
say  'twas  next  to  your  shop?  " 

"  Yes.  Pick  up  quickly  what  you  care  most  to 
save,  and  see  that  everybody  in  the  house  is  ready 
to  get  out  if  the  fire  reaches  us,"  he  answered, 


THE  CLIMAX  295 

scarcely  pausing  on  his  way  to  the  yard.  "  I'm 
going  to  do  what  I  can  with  the  hose,"  he  flung 
back  as  he  ran. 

Mrs.  Knowles  turned  to  find  Marjorie  hastily 
flinging  on  her  clothes,  while  Elizabeth  struggled 
frantically  with  a  knotted  shoestring. 

"  I  heard,"  Marjorie  said.  "  I'll  help  you  in  a 
minute,  Elizabeth." 

Down  in  the  yard,  Bryan,  as  he  hastily  got  out 
the  hose  and  screwed  it  in  place,  was  flinging 
rapid  questions  at  Black  Jim,  who  had  been  the 
first  to  bring  the  warning. 

"  'Twas  Jack  Kelly  gave  me  a  hint  yesterday," 
Jim  explained.  "  He  found  Tony  an'  sent  him  to 
tell  me  to  keep  a  sharp  eye  on  Joe  Veery  an' 
Billy  Hodges  to-night.  So  Tony  an'  me 
tracked  'em.  He  tagged  Billy  an'  I  watched 
Veery,  but  I  guess  Veery  caught  on  to  my 
game,  for  he  managed  to  slip  me  'bout  an 
hour  ago,  an'  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Then 
I  came  across  Tony  tryin'  to  hold  Billy  Hodges. 
Said  he'd  caught  him  sneakin'  round  this  way 
with  some  greasy  rags  an'  light  truck.  Then  we 
were  pretty  sure  that  they  meant  to  start  a  fire 
here.  I  gave  Billy  the  worst  lickin'  he  ever  had, 
but  we  let  him  go  when  we  saw  the  blaze  over 
there.  Veery  must  have  set  that,  an'  I  guess 
likely  Billy's  job  was  to  set  another  right  here." 

"  Over  there,"  was  in  the  small  brick  house 
next  but  one  to  Green  Tree  House,  and  adjoin- 
ing Bryan's  new  shop.  Already  the  windows  of 
the  lower  floor  were  a-glow  from  the  leaping 


296  THEODORE  BRYAN 

flames  inside,  but  as  yet  the  fire  had  not  burst 
through  roof  or  walls.  It  had  evidently  been 
set  inside.  While  Jim  rapidly  told  his  story,  he 
was  helping  Bryan  get  the  long  hose  in  place, 
and  in  a  very  few  minutes  a  stream  of  water  was 
playing  over  the  shop,  but  so  small  a  stream  was 
wholly  inadequate  to  the  need.  It  was  quite 
useless  to  try  to  save  the  house  already  burning 
— they  did  not  attempt  that. 

"  Is  that  house  vacant  ? "  Bryan  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"  Folks  moved  out  late  last  night — I  saw  'em," 
the  second  boy,  Tom  Brown,  volunteered. 

"  Ah !  "  Bryan  began  to  understand.  He 
spoke  to  Jim.  "  You  turned  in  an  alarm,  you  say. 
Why  on  earth  isn't  the  engine  here  by  now  ?  " 

"  Ought  to  a-been  long  before  this — I  don't  see 
why,"  returned  Jim.  "  There  go  the  windows." 

There  was  a  crackling  of  glass  as  the  flames 
burst  through  and  blazed  higher,  flooding  the 
yard  with  a  lurid  light.  Bryan  caught  a  glimpse 
of  anxious  faces  looking  down  from  the  win- 
dows above  him — in  a  fraction  of  a  second  he 
saw  them  all  huddled  together — Mrs.  Knowles, 
and  Marjorie,  and  Elizabeth.  He  even  saw  Duf- 
fer's yellow  head,  and  heard  his  shrill,  excited 
barking  as  he  tried  to  scramble  out  of  Elizabeth's 
arms — and  at  another  window  he  saw  old  Mrs. 
Crum  and  her  daughter,  and  the  frightened  faces 
of  the  two  pale  shop-girls.  Again  he  spoke 
rapidly  to  Jim. 

"If  this  was  set  as  you  think,  it  may  be  part  of 


THE  CLIMAX  297 

a  well-laid  plan.  Probably,  in  that  case,  the  fire 
alarm  has  been  tampered  with — wire  cut,  per- 
haps, to  keep  the  engines  off.  You  go  turn  in  an 
alarm  at  the  next  place — Green  Street.  Go  quick 
as  your  feet  will  take  you,  Jim,  but  not 
through  Sabin  Street — you  might  be  stopped  by 
that  crowd  out  front.  Go  through  the  fence  here 
and  through  Maggie  Presley's  place,  and — quick, 
Jim — every  second  counts." 

"  And  you,  Tom.  You  streak  it  to  Helm 
House  and  tell  Mr.  Marston  the  fix  we're  in. 
He'll  know  what  to  do.  Follow  Jim — that  way." 

As  Tom  darted  off,  Bryan  found  Marjorie 
standing  by  his  side. 

"  Let  me  help  you,  Theodore,"  she  said,  her 
voice  very  quiet  and  steady,  though  in  the  glow 
of  the  mounting  flames  her  dark  eyes  shone  out 
of  a  colourless  face.  "  Please,"  she  urged,  "  I 
want  to  help." 

"  Child,"  he  said,  all  unconscious  of  what  his 
eyes  and  his  voice  were  revealing,  "  there  is  noth- 
ing you  can  do ;  only  be  ready  to  leave  the  house 
when  I  tell  you,  and  I'm  afraid  that  will  be 
very  soon.  Oh,  if  you  had  only  gone  before !  " 

"We  are  all  ready,  but  I'd  much  rather  be 
helping.  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid,"  she  urged. 

"  No,  I  see  you're  not,"  he  returned,  and 
realising  that  it  would  lessen  the  strain  for  her  if 
she  could  be  doing  something,  he  added,  "  Run 
back  and  tell  Mrs.  Knowles  to  get  out  all  her 
quilts  and  blankets.  We'll  put  them  on  the  roof 
and  out  the  windows  here  and  soak  them.  It 


298  THEODORE  BRYAN 

will  protect  the  house  a  little  longer,  till  the 
engines  get  here,  perhaps — if  they  ever  do,"  he 
added  under  his  breath. 

At  that  instant  from  the  street  in  front  there 
rose  on  the  night  air  a  strange,  hoarse,  bellowing 
sound,  like  the  cry  of  some  great  savage  beast 
eager  for  its  prey. 

"  Oh,  what  is  that?  "  The  girl's  face  blanched 
to  a  deadly  whiteness  and  she  shuddered,  as  her 
terrified  eyes  repeated  the  question  of  her  trem- 
bling lips. 

Theodore  Bryan  knew  what  that  sound  meant 
— he  had  heard  its  like  before,  but  never  with 
the  anguish  of  dread  that  shook  him  now — not 
for  himself,  but  for  this  girl  looking  up  at  him 
with  wide,  startled,  wondering  eyes. 

"  My  God ! "  he  muttered  under  his  breath. 
"  It's  a  mob  out  there."  The  next  instant  he  had 
himself  in  hand  and  was  speaking  quietly. 

"  Miss  Marjorie,  you  must  go  through  to  Mag- 
gie's and  stay  there.  Tell  her  to  keep  her  doors 
fastened.  Stop!  Promise  me  that  you'll  stay 
there — promise,  Marjorie !  " 

Something  in  his  face,  his  voice,  compelled  her 
obedience.  "  I  will,"  she  breathed,  turning 
instantly  away,  but  paused  to  ask,  "  Mother 
Knowles  and  Elizabeth ?" 

"  I'll  send  them  right  after  you.  Go  quickly — 
for  your  life,  Marjorie !  " 

She  lifted  her  white  face  for  an  instant  to  his, 
as  from  the  street  came  again  that  strange,  hoarse 
roar,  bearing  its  deadly  menace,  which  she  feared, 


THE  CLIMAX  299 

without  understanding  why — then,  without  an- 
other word,  she  ran  swiftly  across  the  yard  and 
through  the  gate  in  the  fence  to  the  other  house, 
where  Maggie,  white  and  shaken  with  terror, 
clutched  at  her  with  trembling  hands  and  drew 
her  hastily  within. 

And  Bryan,  dropping  the  hose,  dashed  into  the 
house,  stopping  for  a  moment  only  to  send  Mrs. 
Knowles  and  the  others  after  Marjorie;  then  he 
flung  open  the  front  door  and,  stepping  out,  closed 
it  behind  him,  and  stood  upon  the  landing  of  the 
high  steps,  looking  down  upon  the  crowding 
throng  that  filled  the  street  as  far  as  he  could  see 
in  either  direction.  It  was  a  sight  to  make  the 
bravest  heart  sink,  that  mass  of  humanity — 
humanity  of  the  lowest — gathered  there,  as  he 
knew  well,  for  his  undoing.  Just  as  he  stepped 
out,  the  fire  flamed  up  like  a  great  torch  into  the 
black  sky,  casting  a  livid  reflection  over  the  sea 
of  faces,  and  seeming  to  intensify  the  evil  lines 
that  evil  lives  had  graven  on  them.  As  the 
flames  streamed  upward,  cheers  and  yells  of  de- 
light broke  from  hundreds  of  throats,  and  Bryan 
shuddered  at  the  sound  as  his  swift  glance  swept 
over  the  upturned  faces.  There  were  many  that 
he  knew — some  that  he  knew  were  his  bitter  en- 
emies— many  that  were  strange  to  him.  Here 
and  there,  he  saw  the  face  of  one  whom  he  had 
counted  friendly.  Some  were  hard  and  stolid 
faces,  showing  an  impersonal  sort  of  enjoyment 
in  the  occasion,  some  bitter,  exulting,  vindictive ; 
but  the  reflections  from  the  leaping  flames  seemed 


300  THEODORE  BRYAN 

to  bring  them  all  into  a  sinister  and  terrible  har- 
mony— a  harmony  of  evil. 

All  this  he  took  in  in  one  swift,  sweeping 
glance ;  then  he  found  himself  looking  down  into 
a  score  of  young,  eager  faces,  crowding  close 
about  him,  all  beaming  with  love  and  loyalty, 
while  a  rough  voice  at  his  ear  was  saying: 

"  We's  all  here,  brother — we'll  keep  'em  back." 

It  was  Paddy  Mack,  pressing  close  to  his  side — 
Mack,  with  his  broad  Irish  face  no  longer  a-light 
with  mischief.  To-night  his  wide  mouth  was  set 
grim  and  hard,  his  eyes  glowing  with  angry  de- 
termination. "  We's  all  here — all  the  knights," 
he  hurried  on,  "  an'  thim  ugly  divils  down  there 
won't  get  in  this  house  'thout  they  walks  in  over 
us." 

Yes,  they  were  all  there.  Bryan's  eyes  soft- 
ened as  they  went  from  one  lifted  face  to 
another.  The  boys  crowded  the  old-fashioned 
steps,  a  solid  phalanx  from  house  to  railing.  All 
who  could  not  get  a  foothold  on  the  steps  were 
ranged  in  a  double  line  before  the  basement 
windows  where,  eyes  alert  and  defiant,  and  hard, 
boyish  fists  clenched,  they  stood  a  valiant  guard 
against  the  shouting,  cursing,  threatening  mob  of 
which,  a  year  before,  they  would  themselves  have 
been  a  part. 

The  eyes  of  the  multitude  had  been  held  for  a 
moment  by  the  great  torch  of  flame  leaping  up- 
ward from  the  doomed  house,  but  now  suddenly 
some  one  caught  sight  of  Bryan,  and  yelled  and 
pointed  at  him,  and  instantly  the  crowd  surged 


THE  CLIMAX  301 

towards  him,  while  once  again  broke  forth  that 
deep  hoarse  roar  of  the  street  mob,  a  sound 
threatening,  exultant,  horrible— once  heard, 
never  to  be  forgotten. 

As  Bryan  stepped  forward  and  tried  to  speak, 
there  broke  forth  a  perfect  pandemonium  of 
shouts,  yells,  curses,  threats,  and  howls — a  de- 
mon-chorus that  blanched  the  faces  of  the  valiant 
little  knights  themselves,  used  as  they  were  to 
the  mad  frenzies  of  the  streets. 

What  should  he  do?  For  one  brief  minute 
Bryan  hesitated.  He  might  draw  in  the  boys 
nearest  the  door  and  then  hold  that  howling  mob 
at  bay,  possibly,  until  Teddy  could  bring  help; 
but  he  could  not  let  in  all  the  boys  without 
scores  of  hoodlums  crowding  in  with  them.  To 
go  back  himself  and  leave  the  boys  was  not  to  be 
thought  of,  though  every  second  made  him  more 
wildly  anxious  to  take  Marjorie  and  Mrs. 
Knowles  to  a  place  of  safety. 

If  they  would  but  listen  to  him!  Once  more 
he  tried  to  speak  when,  for  a  second,  the  howling 
ceased;  but  at  the  first  word  a  fresh  storm  of 
vituperation  broke  forth,  and  from  somewhere  in 
the  shadows  a  brick  was  flung ;  but  it  fell  short  of 
the  steps,  and  raised  a  storm  of  protest  from 
somebody  in  the  street  on  whose  head  it  landed. 
For  a  moment,  while  he  stood  there,  facing  that 
Inferno  of  human  passion,  Theodore  Bryan  was 
overwhelmed  by  a  sense  of  his  own  helplessness, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  terror  caught  at 
his  heart,  but  only  for  a  moment.  The  next,  he 


302  THEODORE  BRYAN 

could  have  laughed  at  his  fears.  The  Power 
that  led,  could  protect  him  even  in  such  an  hour 
as  this.  He  smiled  into  the  faces  of  his  boys — 
his  young  knights — standing  firm,  even  with 
quaking  hearts  and  trembling  knees,  as  they 
faced  that  pack  of  human  beasts. 

"  It's  all  right,  boys ;  there'll  be  help  along 
presently,"  he  said,  in  a  low  steady  voice ;  and  at 
that,  the  faces  of  the  boys  lost  something  of  their 
strained  anxiety,  though  one  of  them  shook  his 
head  and  muttered,  "  Got  to  come  mighty  quick, 
brother." 

"Look  there — it  is  coming,"  Bryan  cried  out 
joyously;  and  the  boys  straightened  up  and  ex- 
changed glances  of  relief  as  a  fire-engine  whirled 
into  the  street.  At  the  warning  clang  of  its  gong, 
the  dense  mass  of  human  beings,  crowding  back 
upon  each  other,  somehow  made  way  for  the  en- 
gine, but  it  came  slowly  when  every  second 
counted  for  so  much.  Had  the  wind  been  blow- 
ing towards  Green  Tree  House,  nothing  could 
have  saved  it.  As  it  was,  the  building  between 
— the  new  shop — had  now  caught  fire.  Full  of 
dry  wood  and  furniture  as  it  was,  it  would  burn 
like  a  furnace  unless  the  fire  could  be  checked, 
and  then  there  would  be  small  chance  of  saving 
Green  Tree  House. 

"  Say — there's  somethin'  fishy  'bout  that. 
Never  seen  a  fire-engine  crawl  like  that  one,  did 
ye,  eh  ?  "  a  sharp-eyed  boy  muttered,  nudging  the 
one  next  to  him. 

Bryan  had  noticed  and  wondered  over  that; 


THE  CLIMAX 

but  at  last  the  engine  did  reach  the  space  in  front 
of  the  burning  house,  and  the  firemen  connected 
the  hose  with  the  hydrant.  Another  moment, 
and  a  stream  of  water  was  playing  upon  the 
building,  momentarily  deadening  the  flames;  but 
even  as  a  shrill  shout  of  exultation  and  rejoicing 
went  up  from  the  boys  on  the  steps,  the  flow  of 
water  abruptly  ceased,  and  the  fire  blazed  up 
with  fresh  vigour. 

"  Wat  in  thunder's  the  matter  now  ?  "  mut- 
tered Mack,  straining  his  eyes  towards  the  en- 
gine. 

"  Hose  cut !  Hose  cut !  "  The  word  passed 
from  lip  to  lip  and,  as  it  passed,  it  was  followed 
by  a  roar  of  savage,  taunting  laughter  from  the 
seething  multitude  in  the  street,  and  then  a  storm 
of  jeers,  and  shouts,  and  threats  was  flung  at 
Bryan  as  he  stood  on  the  steps  among  his  boys. 
It  was  as  if  the  mob,  sure  now  of  its  prey,  was 
content  to  stand  off  and  await  the  destruction  of 
the  old  house  that  was  the  heart  and  centre  of 
Bryan's  work. 

"  And  not  a  policeman  in  sight,  in  a  mob  like 
this ! "  Bryan  muttered,  his  eyes  searching 
anxiously  for  blue  coat  and  helmet. 

"  Huh !  Don't  ye  see  ?  "  Mack's  quick  ears 
had  caught  the  low-spoken  words.  "  It's  a  put- 
up  job — that's  w'at  this  is.  They've  fixed  the 
cops  an'  firemen  both.  Say !  "  Again  he  spoke 
close  to  Bryan's  ear.  "  Say,  brother,  you  bet  it 
took  a  pile  o'  money  to  do  this  job,  'n'  we  know 
where  de  money  come  from,  too !  " 


304  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Yes,  sir-ee,  we  do ! "  chimed  in  another. 
"  The  whiskey-folks  is  payin'  fer  this  show. 
They  cleared  the  people  out  o'  them  two  houses 
after  dark  last  night — see  ?  "  He  pointed  to  the 
burning  buildings  beyond  the  shop,  for  a  second 
was  blazing  now. 

Bryan  hastily  singled  out  two  of  the  most 
trusty  of  the  boys  on  the  steps.  "  Here,"  he  said, 
"  I'll  open  this  door  a  bit  presently  and  you  two 
slip  through  and  use  the  hose  in  the  yard — it's 
all  ready.  Keep  this  house  as  wet  as  you  can, 
and  maybe  you  can  keep  down  the  blaze  in  the 
shop  a  little.  I  must  stay  here." 

Proud  to  be  singled  out  for  special  service, 
though  at  the  same  time  loth  to  miss  anything 
that  might  happen  here  in  front,  the  boys  twisted 
their  slim  bodies  through  the  narrowest  of  cracks ; 
and  then  Bryan  closed  the  door  again  and  waited 
with  what  patience  he  could,  for  the  help  that 
seemed  so  terribly  slow  in  coming.  Would  it — 
could  it  now,  come  in  time?  Over  and  over 
that  question  repeated  itself  in  his  mind  as  he 
waited  through  minutes  that  seemed  eternities. 

And  meantime  Jim,  running  as  he  had  never 
run  before,  had  reached  the  nearest  fire-alarm, 
and  then  gone  on  to  another  and  another.  Hfe 
would  take  no  chances.  So  three  times  he 
sent  forth  his  urgent  call,  not  knowing  whether 
or  no  the  lines  were  working ;  then  he  stopped  at 
a  public  telephone  and  called  yet  another  com- 
pany. This  time  he  got  an  answer,  and  with  a 


THE  CLIMAX  305 

great  sobbing  breath  he  shouted,  "  Fire  on  Sabin 
Street  near  Green  Tree  House.  Somebody's 
been  monkeying  with  the  alarms  an'  no  engine's 
got  there.  Go  quicker'n  lightning — quick,  I  tell 
ye!" 

Then  hoping  against  hope  that  some  of  his 
other  calls  might  already  have  been  answered, 
Jim  dashed  back  through  the  dark  streets.  At 
Maggie's  door  he  beat  frantically  with  his  fists 
until  it  was  opened  to  him,  and  then  he  plunged 
through  to  Green  Tree  House,  where  he  worked 
like  a  dozen  boys,  instead  of  one,  spreading 
quilts  and  blankets  over  the  roof  of  the  house  and 
hanging  them  from  the  windows  to  protect  the 
back  and  side  of  the  house,  while  the  boys  below 
kept  them  wet  with  the  hose.  Jim  did  his  part 
valiantly  that  night,  and  all  the  time  he  carried  in 
his  sore  heart  the  dark  suspicion  that  his 
own  father  was  a  leader  in  that  night's  black 
business. 

And  while  Jim  was  sending  out  his  calls,  Tom 
Brown  had  been  no  less  faithfully  doing  his  part. 
Tom  found  Helm  House  dark  and  silent,  but  his 
fusilade  with  the  old  iron  knocker  speedily 
aroused  not  only  all  the  inmates  of  that  house, 
but  those  of  half  the  others  on  the  square  as 
well.  Little  Tom  cared  for  that,  however;  and, 
when  the  door  was  opened,  he  stopped  not  for 
parley. 

"  Mr.  Teddy — Mr.  Marston — I  want  him 
quick.  Where's  his  room?"  he  demanded,  and 
following  the  directions  hastily  given,  went 


306  THEODORE  BRYAN 

stumbling  noisily  up  the  dark  stairs.  Marston, 
awakened  by  the  imperative  summons  at  the  door 
below,  had  heard  the  enquiry  for  him,  and  met 
Tom  on  the  landing.  A  swift  interchange  of 
question  and  answer  followed,  and  then  Marston 
was  downstairs,  sending  a  peremptory  call  to 
the  fire  chief. 

"  That  fire  on  Sabin  Street  is  threatening 
Green  Tree  House,  and  there's  trouble  besides. 
Better  get  as  much  help  down  there  as  you  can 
and  as  quickly  as  you  can,"  he  urged,  and  then 
called  up  the  captain  of  police,  who  knew  Bryan 
well. 

"There's  trouble  on  Sabin  Street — at  Green 
Tree  House,"  he  repeated.  "  Bryan  needs 
help  as  quickly  as  you  can  get  it  to  him — needs 
it  badly.  Seems  to  be  a  big  mob  down  there, 
ripe  for  mischief.  There's  not  a  minute  to  lose. 
Yes,  it's  Marston — I'm  going  right  over  there 
myself." 

"  111  go  straight  down  in  the  auto,"  was  the 
instant  response  of  the  captain,  and  Marston 
heard  the  clatter  of  the  receiver  as  it  was  hung 
up. 

Tom  Brown  had  disappeared  the  moment  his 
message  was  delivered,  pelting  back  through  the 
dark  streets  as  Jim  had  done,  towards  Green 
Tree  House,  and  in  five  minutes  Marston  was 
following  him  with .  the  half-dozen  men  who 
lived  at  Helm  House  Settlement.  Tom  had  told 
him  he  could  not  get  through  the  mob  in  Sabin 
Street,  so  he  went  through  Maggie's  house,  stop- 


THE  CLIMAX  307 

ping  only  a  moment  for  a  brief  word  with  his 
cousin  and  Mrs.  Knowles  before  he  dashed 
through  the  two  yards.  In  the  second,  the  boys 
were  doing  their  best  with  the  garden  hose, 
keeping  the  blankets  saturated,  and  the  roof 
streaming  with  water.  Two  of  the  men  stayed 
to  help  there.  The  others  followed  Teddy 
through  the  house.  Bryan  whirled  around  as 
the  door  behind  him  opened,  his  face  lighting 
up  at  sight  of  these  good  friends. 

"  I  knew  you'd  come,  Teddy,"  he  said  quietly, 
and  Marston,  gripping  his  friend's  hand  hard,  re- 
turned as  quietly : 

"  Of  course,"  his  quick  eyes  taking  in  the 
whole  scene  in  one  flashing  glance,  and  resting 
on  the  idle  engine,  with  its  pile  of  glowing  cinders 
underneath,  like  a  reflection  in  miniature  of  the 
flames  sweeping  heavenward. 

"Well,  if  that  isn't  the  limit!"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Gad,  I'd  like  to  take  a  club  to  those  fellows 
down  there.  Why  aren't  they  fighting  that  fire  ?  " 

"  The  hose  has  been  cut  twice,  they  say," 
Bryan  explained.  "  Somebody  doesn't  want  the 
fire  put  out,  Teddy." 

"Well,  of  all  the "  Marston  stopped, 

words  failing  him.  He  cast  an  anxious  glance  at 
the  shop,  where  already  the  fire  had  gained  a 
foothold,  and  muttered  between  set  teeth, 
"  Where  is  that  fire  chief !  "  Then—"  Ah !  "  he 
cried,  with  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction,  as  a 
great  stream  of  water  suddenly  poured  over  the 
shop  from  the  rear. 


308  THEODORE  BRYAN 

"  Gee !  The'll  be  somethin'  doin'  now !  "  yelled 
an  excitable  youngster  perched  on  the  railing. 
"  De  fire  chief — see  ?  "  He  pointed  a  triumphant 
finger  down  the  street,  where  the  clattering  gong 
gave  warning.  This  was  no  slow  and  loitering 
advance  like  that  of  the  engine  that  had  preceded 
it.  The  chief's  auto  cut  its  swift,  unswerving 
way  straight  through  the  dense  mass  of  hu- 
manity, that  was  forced  to  make  way  for  it  or 
suffer  the  consequences.  Beside  the  idle  engine 
the  auto  stopped  and  the  chief  sprang  out,  his 
stern  voice  ringing  out  sharp,  rapid  questions  to 
the  cringing  company  captain,  whose  red  face 
lost  some  of  its  colour  as  he  answered: 

"  We  couldn't  do  nothin'  in  this  mob,"  he  ex- 
plained, vainly  trying  not  to  cower  under  the  look 
in  the  chief's  blazing  eyes.  "  They  cut  the  hose 
twice,  'n'  there  we  were,  'n'  we  expected  every 
minute  some  other  engines  would  be  here." 

The  chief  glared  at  him.  "You  hound!"  he 
cried,  then  flung  out  swift,  peremptory  orders  to 
the  men,  who  sprang  to  execute  them.  "  Number 
7  is  back  there  on  Green  Street.  One  of  you  cut 
over  there  and  send  the  hose-cart  round  here — 
quick!  And  clear  the  street — don't  you  see  that 
wall's  going  to  fall  presently?  Get  to  work,  d'ye 
hear?  If  they  won't  fall  back,  club  'em  till  they 
do.  Ah,  here  comes  Number  9.  You,  Slocum," 
he  called  to  the  captain  of  the  first  company,  who 
was  trying  to  slink  away  into  the  crowd,  "  you 
come  back  here.  There'll  be  a  reckoning  with 
you  for  this  night's  work." 


THE  CLIMAX  309 

"  Huh !  "  Slocum  flung  an  insolent  glance  at 
his  superior.  "  I'm  out  of  it — I  turned  in  me 
resignation  yesterday,  an'  I'll  take  no  more  back 
talk  from  you !  "  he  retorted. 

"  Put  him  under  arrest ! "  shouted  the  chief. 
"  Smith,  I'll  hold  you  responsible  for  him." 

All  this  had  passed  in  a  few  swift  seconds,  and 
now  a  second  engine  began  to  play  over  the  shop, 
which  by  this  time  was  blazing  fiercely.  Green 
Tree  House,  too,  was  deluged,  and  as  there  was 
a  narrow  space  between  that  and  the  burning 
shop,  Bryan  and  his  friends  began  to  hope  that 
the  old  house  would  be  saved  after  all. 

Suddenly,  from  the  steps,  a  shrill  voice  yelled 
triumphantly,  "  Hi-i-i !  Soldiers  a-comin' — sol- 
diers ! "  and  every  boy  strained  his  eyes  to 
see. 

"  'Tain't  soldiers,  neither — it's  de  cops !  "  an- 
other cried,  and  half  a  dozen  voices  confirmed 
that  statement.  "  The  cops !  The  cops !  The 
COPS  !  " 

"  Thank  Heaven !  "  muttered  Marston  fer- 
vently. "  They're  none  too  soon."  For  the 
small  force  of  the  fire  chief  was  having  much 
difficulty  in  driving  back  the  close-packed  multi- 
tude, that  resisted — holding  its  ground  sullenly 
and  stubbornly.  But  it  was  different  when  that 
body  of  blue  coats,  led  by  the  chief,  reached  the 
scene.  Clubs  were  used  without  ceremony  on 
those  who  would  not  fall  back  promptly,  and 
many  a  black  eye  and  many  a  sore  head  were 
carried  away  as  souvenirs  of  the  occasion.  In 


310  THEODORE  BRYAN 

a  short  time  the  street  was  cleared,  or  so  the 
officers  thought.  They  had  overlooked  a  dark 
figure  hidden  under  an  old  wagon-body  in  the 
vacant  lot  opposite  Green  Tree  House — a  figure 
that  crouched  there,  watching  with  malignant, 
bloodshot  eyes  the  group  on  the  steps  of  the 
old  house.  The  door  was  open  now,  and  the 
boys  who  had  so  faithfully  guarded  the  basement 
windows  were  crowding  up  the  steps,  and  with 
them  came  Bennie  Hoyt  and  a  tall  young  fellow, 
whose  eyes  were  shining  with  excitement. 

"  Bennie — I  didn't  know  you  were  here !  " 
Bryan  cried,  his  hand  dropping  on  the  other's 
shoulder  in  the  old  brotherly  fashion.  "  How 
did  you  know  what  was  going  on  ?  " 

"I  can't  tell  how,  Theo?"  Bennie  answered 
gravely.  "  I  couldn't  sleep,  and  I  kept  thinking 
of  you  until  I  just  had  to  get  up  and  come  over ; 
and  on  the  way  I  met  Tom  here,  and  he  came 
with  me." 

Bryan  nodded  to  the  young  fellow — taking  him 
for  a  college  friend  of  Bennie's,  whom  he  had 
met  before. 

"If  there  was  anything  lively  going  on,  I 
wanted  to  have  a  hand  in  it,  you  know,"  Tom  ex- 
plained with  a  laugh,  that  faded  suddenly  as  he 
glanced  down  the  street.  "  Looks  to  me  as  if 
that  fire  was  getting  away  from  them,"  he 
added. 

The  wind  had  risen,  and  was  blowing  hard 
now,  driving  the  flames  before  it.  On  the  op- 
posite side  of  the  street  there  was  a  row  of  old 


THE  CLIMAX  311 

frame  houses,  and  the  fire  leaping  across  the 
narrow  space  had  gotten  a  foothold  there. 

"  Those  old  shanties  will  burn  like  tinder," 
Marston  said. 

"  Couldn't  we  help  down  there  where  they're 
bringing  out  goods  ? "  Bennie  questioned,  but 
Bryan  shook  his  head. 

"  The  firemen  wouldn't  let  you.  They'll  do 
all  that  can  be  done ;  but  there!!  be  a  lot  of  home- 
less creatures  after  this  night's  work."  He 
turned  to  one  of  the  boys  and  sent  him  through 
to  Maggie's  house  to  tell  Mrs.  Knowles  that  she 
might  safely  return  to  her  own  quarters. 

"  She'll  be  gathering  in  those  poor  souls  yonder 
to  feed  and  comfort  them,"  he  added,  his  eyes 
lingering  pitifully  on  the  groups  of  forlorn 
women  and  children  crouching  in  the  middle  of 
the  street,  among  the  little  they  had  been  able  to 
save  from  the  swift  flames  that  were  sweeping 
out  of  existence  the  wretched  tenements  that  had 
sheltered  them. 

"  I  think  our  troubles  are  over  for  to-night," 
Bryan  said,  a  smile  in  his  tired  eyes  as  he  looked 
down  at  his  boys.  "  I " 

At  that  instant  the  lurking  creature  with  the 
bloodshot  eyes  rose  suddenly  from  the  shadow 
of  the  old  wagon  across  the  street,  a  broken  brick 
flew  straight  at  the  tall  figure  on  the  steps,  and 
with  the  smile  still  on  his  lips,  Theodore  Bryan 
fell  across  the  threshold  of  the  old  house. 

For  one  terrible,  shocked  instant,  no  one  moved. 
Then,  with  a  heart-broken  cry,  Bennie  stooped 


312  THEODORE  BRYAN 

and  lifted  Bryan's  head,  looking  up  dumbly  for 
help  as  he  did  so.  Very  tenderly  they  carried  the 
still  figure  into  the  house — become,  in  that  swift 
fraction  of  time,  a  house  of  mourning.  Mrs. 
Knowles  at  once  took  charge  of  the  sickroom, 
and  two  boys  set  off  on  the  run  for  a  doctor, 
while  the  others,  their  interest  in  the  fire  for- 
gotten, waited  in  deep  anxiety.  Bennie  sat  be- 
side the  bed,  silent  and  motionless,  his  face  white 
and  drawn,  his  blue  eyes  full  of  misery.  In  the 
next  room,  Marston  and  the  other  men  waited, 
and  across  the  hall  Marjorie  Armstrong  sat  alone 
until  Elizabeth — a  frightened,  white- faced  Eliza- 
beth— crept  softly  in  and  begged  in  a  whisper  to 
be  allowed  to  stay. 

"  It's  so — awful  lonesome,"  the  child  said, 
choking  over  the  words. 

The  boys  had  slipped  down  into  the  fire  room, 
where  across  the  stars  and  stripes  hung  the  white 
flag,  with  the  names  of  Kelly,  Nolan,  and  Myers 
at  the  head,  but  though  all  of  them  were  there, 
the  place  seemed  strangely  empty,  lacking  the  one 
of  whom  their  thoughts  were  full.  Mack,  Tom 
Brown,  Tony  Trudo,  and  the  others  were  there 
— all  except  Jim.  They  missed  him  after  a 
while,  and  wondered  much  at  his  absence,  for 
they  knew  that  he  had  been  the  first  to  give  the 
alarm,  and  that  he  had  been  with  them  on  the 
steps  when  Bryan  fell.  They  were  tired  and 
worn,  these  boys.  They  had  had  no  sleep,  and 
had  been  under  the  strain  of  fierce  excitement, 
and  in  no  small  danger — and  they  needed  food 


THE  CLIMAX  813 

and  rest;  but  not  one  of  them  thought  of  going 
away  until  their  great  dread  should  be  either  re- 
moved or  confirmed.  The  big  brother  who  had 
opened  to  them  a  new  world — the  man  who  had 
taught  them  the  meaning  of  love  and  service — 
was  he  to  leave  them  now  ? 

It  seemed  very  long  before  the  doctor  came, 
though  really  it  was  but  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
there  was  another  endless  waiting  for  his  verdict. 
And  when  it  came,  it  did  not  answer  the 
question  that  meant  so  much  to  the  boys.  Bryan 
was  living,  and  while  there  was  life  there  was 
hope — that  was  all  the  comfort  the  doctor  could 
give  them ;  but  he  looked  with  a  curious  interest 
into  the  rough  homely  faces  as  the  boys  crowded 
about  him  when  he  came  out  of  the  house,  and 
questioned  him  with  eyes  full  of  anxiety  and 
trouble.  The  doctor  was  a  stranger  who  knew 
little  of  Bryan  and  the  work  he  had  been  doing 
here. 

"  You  seem  to  care  a  great  deal  about  him,"  he 
said,  thinking,  as  he  spoke,  that  he  had  never  be- 
fore seen  such  boys  as  these,  with  such  a  common 
anxiety  in  their  eyes. 

"Care  for  him?  Care  for  brother!  If  we 

didn't "  It  was  rough  Irish  Mack  who  broke 

out  impetuously,  but  found  himself  unable  to 
finish  his  sentence.  He  turned  his  face  suddenly 
aside,  nor  thought  to  be  ashamed  that,  for  the 
first  time  since  he  could  remember,  his  eyes  were 
wet  with  tears. 

The  doctor  went  away,  and  the  boys  lingered 


314  THEODORE  BRYAN 

idly  on  the  sidewalk,  where  they  had  waylaid 
him,  and  looked  sorrowfully  up  at  the  windows 
of  Bryan's  room,  or,  with  but  little  interest, 
watched  the  firemen  still  battling  with  the  fire 
further  down  the  street  in  the  grey  light  of  the 
early  morning.  Then  suddenly  Mar j one  stood 
among  them.  Her  face  was  very  white,  and 
there  were  shadowy  circles  under  her  eyes,  but 
she  tried  to  smile  as  she  gave  her  message : 

"  You  mustn't  go  away  tired  and  hungry,  boys. 
Come  back  to  the  fire  room,  and  Maggie  and  I 
will  get  some  breakfast  for  you  as  quickly  as  we 
can." 

The  boys  exchanged  doubtful  and  questioning 
glances.  It  didn't  seem  right,  somehow,  for  them 
to  accept  the  invitation. 

"I — I  guess  we  ain't  hungry,"  Tom  Brown 
answered  for  them  all. 

But  Marjorie  insisted.  "  Please  come.  We 
want  to  do  this  little  for  you,  who  have  done  so 
much  for  us  all  here  to-night,"  she  urged. 

So,  in  a  heavy  silence,  they  followed  her  back 
to  the  fire  room,  and  still  in  silence  ate  the  hot 
breakfast  that  she,  with  the  help  of  Maggie  and 
Miss  Slater,  made  ready  for  them.  Then  they 
drifted  out  into  the  street  again,  some  going  to 
their  homes,  some  lingering  to  watch  the  firemen, 
who  by  now  were  getting  the  fire  under  control. 
It  had  been  a  very  stubborn  and  difficult  fire  to 
manage,  the  high  wind  sweeping  the  flames  first 
one  way  and  then  another,  and  carrying  cinders 
and  bits  of  burning  wood  from  house  to  house. 


THE  CLIMAX  315 

The  new  shop  and  all  its  contents  were  gone — 
only  one  side  wall  was  still  standing,  but  that 
had  served  as  a  protection  to  Green  Tree  House. 
The  side  wall  of  the  latter  was  scorched  and 
blistered,  but  the  old  house  had  suffered  little 
other  injury.  The  strong  wind  which  had  turned 
the  fire  away  from  it,  had  swept  the  flames 
fiercely  down  the  block,  destroying  half  a  dozen 
of  the  old  brick  houses  before  it  suddenly  leaped 
across  the  narrow  street  and  wiped  out  the  row 
of  ancient  frame  tenements  that  reached  to  the 
cross  street.  Now,  when  at  last  the  firemen  had 
succeeded  in  checking  it,  a  long  line  of  blackened, 
smoking  ruins  was  all  that  remained  between 
Green  Tree  House  and  the  cross  street,  and 
dozens  of  families  were  homeless. 

For  a  long  time  the  boys  stood  idly  looking 
on  and  discussing  the  events  of  the  past  night, 
wondering  what  this  fire  would  mean  to  Sabfn 
Street,  and  what  it  would  mean  to  Green  Tree 
House,  and  the  work  there,  should  "  Brother's  " 
life  be  ended. 

"  There's  two  saloons  gone  up,  anyhow,"  one 
remarked,  and  another  added  bitterly: 

"  Pity  the  rest  didn't  go  wid  'em !  " 

"If  the  fire  had  been  set  the  other  side  o' 
Green  Tree  House,"  remarked  a  third,  "the' 
wouldn't  be  a  stick  of  it  standin'  now." 

"  Mighty  queer,  if  'twas  set,  that  they  didn't 
start  it  on  the  other  side,"  another  added. 

"  The  wind  was  blowin'  the  other  way  early  in 
the  evenin',"  put  in  Mack,  "that's  why  'twas 


316  THEODORE  BRYAN 

started  on  this  side.  Then  it  changed  right 
around  and  blew  great  guns,  too." 

Tom  Brown,  standing  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  gloomily  watching  the  dripping  firemen 
as  they  came  from  the  last  of  the  burnt  buildings, 
suddenly  exclaimed,  "  It  sure  is  mighty  funny 
what's  become  of  Jim.  Didn't  any  of  ye  see 
him  after — that  brick ?  "  He  looked  anx- 
iously from  face  to  face. 

No,  none  of  them  had  seen  him  after  that,  but 
nobody  had  thought  of  any  one  but  brother. 

Tom  continued,  slowly  and  gravely,  "  He 

thought — brother "  No  one  of  them  could 

speak  that  word  without  choking  over  it  now. 
Tom  began  again — "  Jim  thought  he  was  all 
right.  It's  powerful  queer  for  him  to  clear  out 
so  just  when  he's  hurt." 

"  'Tis  so,"  one  or  two  assented,  and  another 
added,  his  eyes  suddenly  hard  and  threatening, 
"If  ever  we  find  out  who  did  heave  that 

brick "  The  gesture  with  which  he  ended 

was  full  of  meaning. 

Tom's  anxious  eyes  again  swept  over  the  sober 
faces.  "  I  be'n  wonderin',"  he  said  uneasily,  "  if 
anything  could  'a'  happened  to  Jim.  He  was 
standin'  right  side  of  me  on  the  steps  just  before 
that  brick  came,  an'  we  ain't  none  of  us  seen  him 
since " 

"You  think  mebbe  he  got  a  brickbat,  too?" 
somebody  questioned,  as  they  all  gathered  closer 
about  Tom. 

He  nodded.     "  That  or  somethin'.    Joe  Veery 


THE  CLIMAX  317 

might  have  done  for  him,  ye  know.  He  would  if 
he  got  the  chance,  'cause  he  knows  that  Jim's 
been  after  him." 

"  Yes,  that's  so,"  they  all  agreed,  and  then,  as 
by  one  impulse,  they  all  turned  and  went  slowly 
back  along  the  street.  When  they  came  to  the 
ruins  of  the  shop  they  paused  again;  and  then, 
more  slowly  still,  they  passed  to  Green  Tree 
House,  and  lingered  by  the  steps,  speaking  in 
low  tones,  as  if  their  voices  might  disturb  him 
of  whom  their  thoughts  were  full. 

It  was  Tony  Trudo  who  suddenly  pointed  a 
lean  brown  finger  to  the  vacant  lot  across  the 
street. 

"  It  come  from  there — that  brick,"  he  said 
briefly.  "  I  seen  it  comin'." 

"  Yer  right,  Tony — it  must  have.  Somebody 
hid  behind  that  ol'  wagon,  most  likely,"  another 
agreed. 

But  Mack  turned  upon  Tony  fiercely.  "  Why 
didn't  ye  tell  us  if  ye  seen  so  much?"  he  de- 
manded. "  We  might  'a'  caught  him  then  an' 
wrung  his  blasted  neck  f er  him !  " 

But  Tony,  looking  quietly  into  the  flushed, 
angry  face,  answered  only,  "  I  didn't  think  of 
anybody  but  him"  with  a  gesture  towards  that 
upper  room  where  they  all  knew  that  the  silent 
figure  was  lying. 

At  that  Mack  subsided  suddenly,  but  Tom 
Brown,  without  a  word,  started  across  the  street, 
the  others  trailing  aimlessly  after  him.  What 
they  expected  to  find  in  the  vacant  let  they  could 


318  THEODORE  BRYAN 

not  have  told,  but  certainly  not  what  they  did 
find — all  that  was  mortal  of  Black  Jim.  He  lay 
there  on  the  ground  behind  the  old  wagon,  his 
dark  face  quiet  and  peaceful,  as  it  never  had  been 
in  life— -only  a  bruise  on  the  temple  to  tell  how 
quick  and  painless  had  been  his  passing. 

The  boys  stood  looking  down  at  him  in 
shocked  silence.  It  was  Mack,  whose  warm  Irish 
heart  covered  a  multitude  of  sins — Mack,  who 
for  the  second  time  that  morning  found  his 
cheeks  wet  with  tears. 

"  He  was — a  good  feller — Jim,"  he  muttered, 
turning  suddenly  away. 

But  Tom  Brown,  stooping  down,  pointed 
silently  to  Jim's  right  hand.  It  was  tightly 
clenched  over  a  piece  of  dark  plaid  cloth  of  a 
kind  not  much  worn  about  Sabin  Street.  The 
boyish  faces  darkened  at  sight  of  that  cloth,  and 
a  dozen  voices  muttered  the  name  of  Joe  Veery. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom  slowly,  "  don't  you  see  ?  It 
was  Joe  Veery  flung  that  brick.  He'd  sworn  to 
do  for  brother,  an'  he  has.  Jim  must  have  seen 
where  the  brick  come  from,  an'  run  across  here 
when — when  he  went  down — an'  tried  to  hold 

Joe,  an'  so "  He  flung  out  his  hand  towards 

the  still  figure  before  them. 

"  An'  what'll  we  do  now  ?  "  one  questioned  in 
an  awed  whisper. 

"  You  go  over  there  " — Tom  pointed  across 
the  street — "  an'  tell  Mr.  Marston.  He'll  know 
what  to  do." 

The  boy  went  swiftly  without  a  word.    In 


THE  CLIMAX  319 

silence  the  others  waited,  moved  to  the  depths 
of  their  young  hearts  by  this  sudden  passing  of 
one  of  their  number,  and  in  such  a  way. 

Marston  and  another  man  returned  imme- 
diately with  the  messenger. 

"  Poor  lad,"  Marston  said  in  a  low  tone,  when 
he  had  looked  at  the  quiet  face,  laid  his  hand  on 
the  still  heart,  and  heard  what  the  boys  had  to 
tell,  "  he  gave  his  life  for  his  friend.  We'll  take 
him  over  there.  His  brother  would  want  it  so." 

And  thus  into  that  house  where  death  was 
waiting,  they  carried  the  one  whom  death  had 
already  claimed. 


XVIII 
THE  RESULTS  OF  THE  CRUSADE 

TO  the  editor  of  one  of  the  leading  papers 
of  the  city  was  handed  that  morning 
an  envelope  containing  the  story  which 
Julius  Perry,  who  was  still  absent  in  the  West, 
had  written  after  the  evening  he  had  spent  at 
Green  Tree  House.  This  manuscript  had  been 
sidetracked  in  some  Western  post-office  and  had 
but  just  reached  the  newspaper  office — seven  days 
after  it  was  posted.  Perry  had  been  deeply  im- 
pressed by  what  he  had  seen  and  heard  that 
night,  and  his  vivid,  graphic  portrayal  of  it  all 
made  a  wonderfully  interesting  article,  which  so 
absorbed  the  attention  of  the  city  editor  that  he 
pushed  impatiently  aside  another  manuscript  that 
was  brought  to  him  by  one  of  his  assistants. 
But  when,  having  finished  reading  Perry's  story, 
he  took  up  the  other,  the  surprise  in  his  eyes 
kindled  into  sudden  intense  interest,  and  he 
plunged  into  the  reading  of  this  with  even 
greater  eagerness.  When,  finally,  he  flung  both 
articles  across  to  another  editor,  he  said: 

"  We  are  going  to  rouse  the  town  to-night, 

Johnson.     Get  out  the  biggest  edition  we  can 

run — it  will  go  like  wildfire.     Strange  thing,  too, 

that  Perry's  story  should  have  strayed  so  and 

320 


reached  us  just  at  this  particular  time.  Couldn't 
have  happened  better  possibly.  Who  is  the 
youngster  that  sent  in  this  last  story  ?  " 

"  It's  young  Brady — son  of  Dennis,"  John- 
son answered,  his  eyes  glowing. 

"What!"  The  chief  turned  and  stared  in- 
credulously at  his  subordinate.  "  You  don't 
mean  that  he's  Boss  Brady's  son  ?  " 

"  But  I  do,"  returned  the  other  triumphantly. 
"  I  told  you  the  other  day,  when  we  printed 
some  of  the  stuff  he  sent  in,  that  he'd  make  a 
good  newspaper-man  if  he  stuck  to  it,  and  he  will. 
But  this  " — he  rapped  the  manuscript  before  him 
— "  this  coming  from  Boss  Brady's  son — of 
all  men — well,  of  course,  you  see  what  it  will 
mean." 

"A  fool  could  see  that!"  snapped  the  chief. 
Then  he  added  thoughtfully,  "  There's  no  telling 
where  this  thing  will  end,  but  those  who  have 
been  working  against  Bryan  down  there  in  the 
ninth  ward,  couldn't  have  done  a  worse  thing 
for  their  own  side  than  they  did  with  that  brick 
last  night.  Whether  Bryan  lives  or  dies  now, 
public  sympathy  will  be  with  him,  and  his  work 
will  be  carried  on.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Boss 
Brady's  daws  are  trimmed  for  good  in  the  old 
ward  he  has  carried  in  his  pocket  for  so  many 
years." 

"  And  by  his  own  son !  "  put  in  Johnson. 

The  chief  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed 
gleefully.  "Poetic  justice!"  he  cried.  "But 
how  on  earth  did  it  come  about  ?  The  youngster 


322  THEODORE  BRYAN 

must  have  known  that  he  was  rapping  his  own 
father  when  he  wrote  that." 

"Maybe  not,"  Johnson  returned.  "This 
young  Brady  is  a  Harvard  boy,  classmate  of  my 
nephew,  Charlie  Phillips,  you  know.  The  two 
are  great  chums,  and  Charlie  thinks  that  the 
Boss  doesn't  talk  politics  with  Tom — keeps  him 
in  the  dark  about — well,  a  good  many  things." 

"  Oh,  but,  Johnson,"  the  chief  remonstrated, 
"  the  young  fellow  must  read  the  papers,  and 
they'd  enlighten  him.  A  chap  bright  enough 
to  write  such  an  article  as  that,  wouldn't  be 
so  easily  hoodwinked." 

Johnson  shook  his  head.  "  Anybody'd  think 
so,  of  course,  but  I  guess  young  Tom  is  a  warm- 
hearted chap,  and  his  father  thinks  the  world 
of  him — can't  do  too  much  for  him.  It's  likely 
he  wouldn't  believe  what  the  papers  say  against 
the  old  man — takes  it  for  political  abuse,  you 
know — newspaper  lies.  He  probably  knows  only 
the  other  side  of  his  father,  and  Dennis  isn't  all 
bad,  by  any  means." 

"  Can't  understand  it,"  the  chief  returned, 
shaking  his  head,  "  but  anyhow,  all  that  is  no 
concern  of  ours.  The  paper  will  sweep  the  town 
to-night,"  he  ended,  with  a  chuckle,  "  and  unless 
I'm  much  mistaken  there'll  be  big  changes  in 
the  old  ninth  ward  after  this  night's  work. 
What  fools  they  were  to  try  on  anything  of  this 
sort — simply  brought  about  the  very  thing  they 
were  fighting  against — that  will  be  the  upshot 
of  it." 


RESULTS  OF  THE  CRUSADE     323 

The  chief  editor  was  right.  There  was  an 
unprecedented  demand  for  the  paper  that  night, 
and  the  next  morning  the  city  was  ringing  with 
the  affair.  Green  Tree  House  was  overwhelmed 
with  offers  of  help,  enquiries  for  Bryan,  mes- 
sages of  sympathy. 

And  Jim,  poor  lad — unknown  and  neglected 
through  the  sixteen  years  of  his  life — Jim  was 
counted  a  hero  now.  The  little  mission  chapel 
from  which  he  was  buried  could  not  begin  to 
contain  all  who  came,  and  never  in  his  poverty- 
bound  life  had  Jim  seen  or  touched  such  flowers 
as  heaped  his  coffin.  The  knights,  each  wearing 
the  little  white  flag  on  his  jacket,  walked  behind 
the  hearse  all  the  way  to  the  cemetery,  their 
young  faces  very  grave.  And  as  they  went,  they 
wondered  sadly  how  soon  they  might  have  to 
follow  thus  one  who  was  much  dearer  to  them. 
The  angel  of  death  seemed  to  walk  with  them  that 
day,  casting  a  dark  shadow  over  all  their  lives. 

For  Bryan  lay  desperately  ill,  though  the  doc- 
tors gave  hope  of  his  recovery.  For  two  days  he 
remained  unconscious,  before  he  awakened  to 
weakness  and  pain. 

But  as  the  days  and  weeks  went  on  he 
gained  slowly,  and  meantime,  things  were 
happening — things  that  bade  fair  to  make  pres- 
ent realities  of  what  to  him  had  been  dreams  of 
the  far  future. 

The  deep  interest  awakened  by  the  publica- 
tion of  Perry's  story  of  Bryan  and  his  work,  and 
by  Tom  Brady's  thrilling  account  of  that  night 


THEODORE  BRYAN 

when  fire  and  mob  violence  threatened  Green 
Tree  House,  had  been  intensified  by  the  murder- 
ous attack  on  Bryan  and  by  the  death  of  Jim. 
Warm  friends  of  Bryan  had  set  to  work  with 
determination  to  carry  out  his  plans.  Civic 
workers,  already  interested  in  what  had  been 
accomplished  at  Green  Tree  House — both  up- 
stairs and  down — seeing  now  the  opportunity  for 
changes  that  would  mean  great  gain  to  the  city, 
threw  all  their  interest  into  the  movement,  and 
money  was  freely  offered  by  men  and  women  of 
wealth.  Boss  Brady's  power  in  his  long-time 
kingdom  was  unquestionably  gone  for  ever,  and 
a  new  era  had  dawned  for  Sabin  Street  and  the 
old  ninth  ward. 

Long  before  Theodore  Bryan  was  able  to  leave 
his  room  the  good  work  was  begun.  The  black- 
ened ruins  left  by  the  fire  were  removed,  and  the 
old  disreputable  houses  on  the  adjoining  square 
were  swept  away ;  for  Teddy  Marston's  prophecy 
was  coming  true,  sooner  than  he  had  dared  to 
hope.  There  was  to  be  a  recreation  park  on  old 
Sabin  Street,  and  the  saloons  were  doomed — not 
one  was  to  be  allowed  within  four  squares  of 
the  park. 

Bryan's  shop,  too,  was  to  be  at  once  rebuilt  on 
a  larger  and  better  plan,  but  it  was  still  to  re- 
main just  a  shop,  not  a  school,  though  various 
lines  of  arts  and  crafts  work  were  to  be  added, 
as  time  went  on,  and  the  demand  was  made  for 
them. 

All  this  Bryan,  as  he  crept  slowly  back  to 


RESULTS  OF  THE  CRUSADE  325 

health  and  vigour,  learned  from  his  friends,  and 
from  the  boys  who  began  to  come  by  twos  and 
threes  to  see  him,  as  soon  as  doctor  and  nurse 
permitted.  There  was  great  rejoicing  among  the 
boys  when,  at  last,  they  dared  to  believe  that  he 
was  really  going  to  get  well  and  be  with  them 
again.  They  all  came  to  see  him,  but  Tony 
Trudo  was  the  first  to  bring  him  a  gift — a 
bookrack  like  the  one  he  had  made  for  Tommy 
O'Brien.  Bryan's  thanks  were  few  and  brief — 
he  knew  the  boy  too  well  to  venture  more — but 
his  eyes  said  what  his  lips  left  unsaid,  and  Tony 
was  very  quick.  He  understood.  After  that 
the  boys  brought  all  sorts  of  offerings,  until 
Mrs.  Knowles  declared  that  Bryan  would  have 
to  get  a  cabinet  to  hold  them  all. 

One  day,  when  Marston  came  to  sit  a  while 
with  his  friend,  Bryan  pointed  to  a  hammer  ly- 
ing on  the  table  beside  his  couch. 

"  Tony  brought  it  back  to-day.  I  was  sure 
he  would,  some  time." 

"  What  did  he  say  about  it  ? "  Marston  en- 
quired curiously. 

"  Nothing.  He  just  laid  it  down  there,  look- 
ing me  straight  in  the  eyes.  I  understood,  and 
he  knew  that  no  words  were  needed. 

"  Poor  chap !  "  was  Marston's  gentle  comment. 

When  Theodore  was  well  enough  to  travel, 
his  friend  carried  him  off  to  the  Marston  sum- 
mer home  on  the  Maine  coast ;  and  there  he  spent 
four  quiet,  happy  weeks.  It  was  the  first  real 
resting  time  he  had  ever  had,  and  perhaps  be- 


326  THEODORE  BRYAN 

cause,  at  first,  he  was  too  weak  to  do  otherwise, 
he  gave  himself  up  to  the  full  enjoyment  of  it, 
and  health  and  strength  came  swiftly  back  to 
him.  But  at  the  end  of  a  month,  the  spell  was 
broken,  and  no  persuasions  could  induce  him  to 
prolong  his  stay. 

"  You've  given  me  the  happiest  month  of  my 
life,  dear  old  fellow,"  he  said  to  Marston,  "  but 
now  I'm  well  and  strong  again.  My  boys  are 
calling  me,  and  I  must  go." 

It  was  the  day  after  his  departure  that  Marston 
and  his  cousin  were  on  the  lake,  in  the  late 
afternoon,  when  the  western  sky  was  a-flame 
with  crimson  and  gold.  Teddy's  practised  hand 
sent  the  light  canoe  swiftly  and  smoothly  over 
the  quiet  water,  while  the  girl  sat  silent,  her 
dark  eyes  dreamily  watching  the  brilliant  pageant 
of  the  sky,  and  its  scarcely  less  vivid  reflection  in 
the  mirror-like  surface  of  the  lake. 

For  a  time  neither  seemed  inclined  to  talk,  but 
after  a  while  Marston  stopped  paddling  and  let 
the  canoe  drift  idly  on  the  golden  water.  Then, 
half  to  himself,  he  said,  "  Strange,  how  I  do  miss 
that  fellow!" 

Marjorie  flashed  a  swift  glance  at  him,  but 
answered  nothing,  and  after  a  moment  her 
cousin  went  on,  "  You  don't  know,  Marjie, 
how  hard  I  found  it  to  decide  not  to  go  back 
and  work  with  him  this  fall." 

"  You  have  decided,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Father  needs  me,  not  only  in  the  busi- 
ness, but  at  home.  I  can  see  that  he  isn't  as 


RESULTS  OF  THE  CRUSADE     327 

strong  as  he  was  a  year  or  two  ago,  and  his  claim 
comes  first." 

She  nodded :  then  she  said  slowly,  "  Bryan  will 
miss  you  very  much." 

"  I'd  be  sorry  to  think  he  wouldn't  miss  me 
a  little,  but  he'll  have  plenty  of  helpers  now," 
Marston  returned.  Then,  with  a  searching 
glance,  "How  about  you,  Marjorie?  Are  you 
going  again  to  Helm  House  or  to  Mother 
Knowles?" 

Marjorie  shook  her  head  slowly.  "  I  think 
not — if  you  are  not  going  back." 

"Had  enough  of  settlement  work?"  Mar- 
ston's  tone  was  light,  but  his  eyes  still  studied 
the  pretty  face,  over  which  a  little  flush  was 
creeping.  An  earnest,  serious  face  it  was  as  the 
answer  came. 

"  No,  Teddy,  I've  grown  to  love  the  work.  I 
see  now  what  a  wonderful  and  beautiful  thing 
it  is  to  help  to  uplift  and  brighten  human  lives, 
but  I  can't  go  back — now." 

Then  again  for  several  minutes  they  watched 
the  changing  tints  in  the  sky  before  Marston 
said  slowly,  "  Marjorie,  there  is  something  that 
I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you." 

She  looked  up  at  him  quickly,  her  dark  eyes 
widening  in  half-startled  wonder  as  he  went  on, 
"  Perhaps  you  know  it  already.  Perhaps  if  you 
do  not,  you'd  rather  not  know  it,  but  I  can't 
keep  it  to  myself  any  longer — for  Theodore's 
sake,  I  can't.  You  remember  that  when  he  was 
hurt  I  helped  to  take  care  of  him,  I  sat  up  with 


328  THEODORE  BRYAN 

him  several  nights,  and  the  first  night  he  was 
delirious  and  talked  incessantly.  Marjorie,  I 
learned  then  what  I  had  guessed  before — that 
he  loves  you.  But  he  will  never  tell  you  so.  It 
is  because  I  am  sure  of  that,  that  I  am  saying 
this  to  you.  It  seemed  to  me  that  you  had  a 
right  to  know." 

"  Why  are  you  so  sure  of  that — that  he — will 
never  tell  me,  if  it  is  so  ?  " 

"  Because  of  a  talk  I  had  with  him  a  long 
time  ago,  about  marriage.  He  said  then  that 
he  could  never  ask  any  girl  to  marry  him,  when 
he  has  not  even  a  name  that  he  is  sure  belongs 
to  him.  You  know  he  always  has  taken  it  for 
granted  that  his  parents  were  of  the  lowest — 
that  there  is  bad  blood  in  his  veins — and  so  he 
feels  that  he  has  no  right  to  ask  any  girl  to  be 
his  wife.  I  never  can  believe  that — about  his 
parentage,  I  mean.  If  it  is  true,  then  heredity 
counts  for  very  little." 

Marjorie  pointed  to  a  lily  lifting  its  pure  white 
chalice  above  the  glimmering,  golden  water. 
"  That  springs  from  the  mud,"  she  said,  her 
voice  very  low,  but  there  was  a  proud  light  in 
her  eyes,  and  a  little  smile  hovered  about  the 
corners  of  her  lips  as  she  added,  "  Thank  you, 
Teddy,  for  telling  me,  but  I  knew  it  before." 

"  You  did !     But  he  has  not  told  you  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head,  smiling  gravely 
now.  "Not  in  words,  Teddy,  and  he  does  not 
know  that  he  has  told  me  in  any  way."  A 
quiver  swept  over  her  face  as  she  recalled  the 


RESULTS  OF  THE  CRUSADE     329 

look  in  Theodore  Bryan's  eyes  as  he  spoke  to 
her  on  that  terrible  night  when  she  stood  by  his 
side  in  the  glare  of  the  burning  building. 

Her  cousin  was  watching  her  curiously,  but 
with  a  swift  change  of  look  and  tone  she  spoke, 
"  We  must  go  back  now,  Teddy.  Your  father 
will  be  waiting  for  us,"  and  he  understood  th'at 
no  more  was  to  be  said. 

All  the  way  back  she  was  silent,  but  once,  as 
he  turned  to  speak  to  her,  he  saw  that  the 
radiance  in  her  eyes  rivalled  the  glow  of  the 
sunset,  and  he  turned  away  again,  leaving  his 
word  unuttered. 

It  was  one  evening,  about  a  month  later,  that 
Theodore  Bryan  turned  out  the  lights  in  the 
shop,  after  the  last  of  the  boys  had  gone. 
Then  he  went  into  the  fire  room  and, 
throwing  a  fresh  log  on  the  fire,  dropped 
wearily  into  a  chair  before  it.  It  had  been 
a  peculiarly  hard  day,  and  he  missed  his 
friend — missed  the  pleasant  companionship  es- 
pecially at  this  hour.  His  thoughts  went  back, 
as  they  had  done  so  many  times,  to  those  happy 
days  beside  the  sea,  and  he  wondered  what 
Teddy  was  doing  now.  Then  suddenly  he 
heard  footsteps  on  the  stairs,  and  he  lifted  his 
head,  listening  intently.  It  was  not  the  heavy 
step  of  Mrs.  Knowles,  nor  the  brisk  clattering 
rush  of  Elizabeth,  and  who  else ? 

The  fire  blazed  out,  flooding  the  room  with 
light,  and  he  started  up,  staring  incredulously, 


330  THEODORE  BRYAN 

as  Marjorie  Armstrong  came  swiftly  towards 
him  out  of  the  shadows  of  the  stairway. 

"You?"  he  cried,  "you!"  and  he  caught 
both  her  hands  in  his,  holding  them  close,  but 
only  for  an  instant;  the  next,  he  had  himself  in 
hand  again,  and  his  tone  was  just  the  old 
friendly  one  of  the  past  year,  as  he  asked  her  to 
be  seated  while  he  lighted  the  gas. 

"  No,  please,"  she  pleaded,  "  put  on  another 
log  instead — I  like  the  firelight  best,"  and  then, 
very  low,  she  added,  "  I — have  something  to 
say  to  you,  but  I  can't  say  it  unless  you  sit 
down." 

"  But  let  me  get  you  a  chair  first." 

"  No  " — she  shook  her  head — "  I  must  have  my 
own  way  this  time,  or  else — I  can't  say  it.  Sit 
down  here  just  as  you  were,  please." 

With  a  great  bewildering,  unbelievable  hope 
growing  in  his  heart,  he  obeyed.  Then  Mar- 
jorie slipped  around  behind  him  and  put  her 
two  hands  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Are  you — going  to  make  me  say  it  all — 
Theo  ?  "  she  whispered  very  low. 


EPILOGUE 

THERE  came  a  day  when,  extending  for 
four  squares  beyond  Green  Tree  House, 
there  was  a  place  green  and  pleasant,  if 
not  yet  shady,  because  the  trees  were  small — the 
place  of  which  Theodore  Bryan  had  so  often 
dreamed — where  tired  mothers  could  bring  their 
little  children  and  sit  on  comfortable  benches, 
while  their  babies  rolled  on  the  grass  and  their 
bigger  babies  burrowed  in  a  sandheap — a  place 
where  growing  boys  could  bathe,  and  swim,  and 
climb,  and  exercise,  and  play  ball  to  their  hearts' 
content,  and  their  sisters  could  have  equal  privi- 
leges— a  place  where  young  men  and  women 
could  dance,  or  sit  and  walk  together  in  safe, 
and  clean,  and  quiet  ways. 

And  near  by  were  two  "  Neighbourhood " 
houses,  one  for  women  and  one  for  men, 
where  provision  was  made  for  other  needs  of 
mind  and  body — cheap,  good  food,  clean,  inter- 
esting reading  matter,  cheerful  amusements,  or 
just  quiet  rest. 

But  even  these  things  were  not  all  that  had 
come  from  the  "  crusade  "  in  the  old  ninth  ward, 
for  long  rows  of  old  rookeries  on  neighbouring 
streets  had  been  bought  by  men  and  women  of 
wealth,  and  were  to  be  pulled  down  and  re- 
331 


332  THEODORE  BRYAN 

placed  by  model  tenements,  where  decent  and 
comfortable  living  would  be  possible.  All  this 
meant  a  mighty  change  for  the  better  in  that 
entire  section  of  the  city. 

But  the  home  at  No.  40  Sabin  Street — Green 
Tree  House — that  remains  unaltered,  and  still 
Mother  Knowles  goes  on  her  quiet  way,  keep- 
ing a  bright,  cheery  home,  where  all  her  neigh- 
bours are  ever  sure  of  a  welcome,  and  of  warm 
sympathy  and  help  in  their  time  of  trouble. 
And  many  a  growing  girl  is  there  learning  how 
to  make  for  herself  and  others,  in  the  years  to 
come,  a  home  like  this — how  to  cook,  and  sew, 
and  clean — and  how  to  "  love  up,"  as  well  as 
bring  up,  little  children.  Many  are  the  lives 
that  this  one  good  woman  is  touching,  many  the 
feet  she  is  gently  guiding  into  safe  and  happy 
life  paths,  many  the  souls  in  which,  under  her 
gentle  touch,  the  great  Image  is  growing  clearer 
and  brighter  day  by  day.  As  Theodore  Bryan  is 
moulding  the  "  men  of  to-morrow,"  so  she  is 
training  those  who  will  be  mothers  of  men  in 
the  days  that  are  yet  to  be. 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 


A     000126822     6 


